in this valley of dying stars
by Watanabe Maya
Summary: Tsukishima Kei lands himself in Tokyo, and heartwarming post-apocalyptic reunions come by to him as chaotically as one would often expect. \\ zombie apocalypse AU. bokuaka, kagehina, tsukki/kuro/ken.
1. this is the way the world ends

i've always wanted to try my hand at writing about the apocalypse so here i am starting off the new decade by exploring a new genre yay hehe

title is taken from t.s. eliot's poem, "the hollow men"

disclaimer: i don't own hq!

* * *

Kei doesn't know how they'd managed to let things get this bad.

Scratch that, he does know.

The first one had been Hinata. Like most things, Kei considers, problems always started when it involved the little shrimp. It was sometime in January, just a little after their first year winter break. Kei's not sure whether he should consider himself lucky that he and Yamaguchi were assigned to be the class monitors for that week, leaving him with no choice but to overhear the conversation between the dumbass boyfriend duo during their lunch break.

Kageyama was the one who had noticed it first, like he always did when it came to all things Hinata Shouyo, pointing out the mottled pattern of skin that was beginning to form on the shorter boy's left ring finger.

"Oi, what happened to your hand?" Kageyama had asked him over a mouthful of his bento. They'd invaded Kei's classroom with the hopes of getting him and Yamaguchi to tutor them again. Yachi was out busy working on promotions for their team's latest fundraiser. Since he and Yamaguchi were still busy stapling biology handouts that were due for their class later for the day, the couple took to their lunch while waiting for them to finish the task in the meantime.

"Ah, this?" Hinata glanced down at his hand, confused, before he turned to address the other's query. He'd shrugged off his boyfriend's apparent concern and answered breezily. "Don't mind, it was just Pochi."

"Pochi?"

"My new dog! Bakayama, do you not pay attention to my texts? Mom gave her to me and Natsu as a Christmas present!"

"Pochi," Kageyama echoed in an attempt to recall. "Pochi. Right. Your new pomeranian. I thought you told me she ran away."

"Yeah, but she came back to us last night! My mom found her stumbling back home with a limp. She had this nasty wound on her paw and I think she sprained it too. I was trying to patch it up with a splint this morning, but I think I touched it wrong and hurt her so she bit me by accident," Hinata explained between mouthfuls of onigiri, "No need to worry though! Mom said she had the vet give Pochi all her rabies shots before bringing her to our home."

The setter scolded the smaller boy, "You still gotta take better care of yourself, dumbass. How else would I be able to keep sending you tosses?" Kageyama clasped his lunchbox shut right then, digging in his backpack for a good minute or two before he slapped on a yellow checkered band aid and wrapped it around Hinata's wounded finger, almost like a wedding ring.

"That almost sounds like a proposal," Hinata had teased, and Kei almost resisted the urge to roll his eyes at their exchange. He rather would've listened to music to block out their banter if he could, but using gadgets were forbidden during class hours under their campus rules, and Yamaguchi always chided him whenever he made so much as to reach for his headphones when it hadn't yet been after-school hours. Kei had to endure. Hinata's face lit up, smiling. "Do you have another?"

"Here. Why? Did you get injured anywhere else?"

Hinata reached for Kageyama's hand, encasing his ring finger in the same yellow checkered print before he pecked the other's lips with a closed-lipped kiss. "Nope," he declared cheekily, leaning forward, "it's so we'd match!"

Their usually-stoic setter turned beet red right then, whether it was from the boldness of the act or the sincerity in Hinata's words, Kei surmises that he will never truly know, nor would he ever really care to analyze the situation well enough to bother trying to know. The tall middle blocker had watched from his seat as Kagayama stormed off in a stuttering heap of embarrassment and Hinata hollered at his retreating figure with a laugh as he loudly announced, I do, by the way!

(Kei never would have imagined that that would have been the last of their antics, that it would be the final memory he'd ever get to see of them, happy and healthy and normal and human, before he heard the metaphorical bang go off in his head that signalled to him that this was precisely the way the world ends.)

Hinata came to school sporting a mask the next morning, his once-bright eyes void of their usual shine and the flush of his cheeks contrasting the stark white of his frighteningly sickly pallor. That day, Kei had had the misfortune to reach the gymnasium for practice at the same time as him.

Hinata had waved his hand up in an effort to say hello as their figures approached one another. The bruise on his finger had spread out further than it did last, splotches of color peeking out from the edges of the shorter boy's yellow checkered band aid. It had come off as more purplish than it did blue, and Kei remembers the sight of it with a shudderingly vivid clarity.

"You look like death," Kei had announced flatly upon greeting.

(In hindsight, Kei realizes, he hates exactly just how right he had been.)

Kei admonished his rival middle blocker that there's no way their captain would allow Hinata to take part in their training when he's clearly so sick, stating it more as a matter of fact than as a piece of friendly advice – because it is what it is and Kei had never really been one to openly impart his concern. Hinata had grumbled under his breath that he knew at least that much and even if he weren't doing any major jumps then he could at least watch so he could learn something alongside the team while he'd rest.

Hinata scowled, sticking out his tongue in a grumpy, childish manner, before marching off to the locker room in which Kei had wordlessly followed suit.

Just as Kei had finished changing into his jersey, Kageyama entered the room with a grunted Osu! in greeting. Kei walked out to leave the two lovebirds alone, lest his patience would wear thin at yet another broadcast of idiot boyfriends in love before training.

A handful of his teammates were already assembled by the time Kei had entered the gym – their captain, the vice, and four out of their five second years. Kei was halfway through his second round of warm-up exercises when he realized that he had forgotten to take his water bottle with him, so he got permission from Sugawara to excuse himself and retrieve it from his bag which he left in the locker room.

His eyes had found Yamaguchi frozen in a spot, hand over his mouth in quiet shock as he stood in front of the ajar doorway. Kageyama was slumped against the post of a metal storage shelf with Hinata's figure crouched over him, legs bent and straddling the young setter by the waist.

If Kei hadn't known any better he'd have assumed his best friend had just awkwardly walked into an intimate scene of the dumbass boyfriend duo having sex on the tatami, because who else would be so stupid as to make out in a communal boys' locker room at six thirty in the morning?

But there was something else in Yamaguchi's wide, watery eyes – a certain kind of terror that Kei finds himself unable to properly describe if he were to even try to put it into words, and it is only when Kei had stepped forward and looked closer that he finally understood why.

Blood was dripping down the setter's shirt, staining his jersey a deep and rich red. Hinata was biting on the raven-haired's neck, like a hungry rabid animal feasting on tender flesh. The shine of his eyes was lost, as though it had grown dull from a lost brilliance. Kageyama was still awake, body inert with shell-shock, his dark blue eyes wide with fear and agony and worry, of all things, but he makes it past the excruciating pain of Hinata's teeth literally lacerating his skin, and his hoarse voice called out to them in palpable distress:

"Please...help," he wheezed, "Something's...wrong with...Hi...nata…p-please….help...h-him…"

Kei had ordered Yamaguchi to fetch Coach Ukai or Takeda-sensei from the gym and inform the rest of their seniors of the sudden emergency. The freckled boy heeded his words and took off in an instant.

Tanaka and Ennoshita were the first to come to their aid, yanking Hinata off from where he had latched onto his boyfriend's bleeding shoulder. Daichi and Kinoshita each took to grab one of Hinata's legs as they pinned him down to the tatami. The small boy writhed beneath their hold, thin limbs thrashing as his arms flailed in an attempt to free himself. On the other side of the room, Nishinoya and Suga worked to pull Kageyama away from the shelf, keeping him from harm's way as the two dabbed at his collar and tended to his wounds.

It wasn't long before Yamaguchi returned together with their advisors. Ukai had rushed down to his knees to join the boys who were holding down Hinata's violent, thrashing form, instructing them to stay calm while they waited for help to come. Takeda-sensei pulled out his phone and called for an ambulance. Yamaguchi headed out once more to fetch some ice for Kageyama in the meantime. Kei, on the other hand, didn't move. He simply stayed quiet where he stood, lips pressed taut into a thin line, didn't turn his eyes away from the scene unfolding before him as his legs kept him rooted to the same spot on the ground.

Then the medics arrived. Hinata lashed out at the group in resistance, nails grazing skin as they hauled him onto the stretcher. Kageyama as a patient had come much easier; he mutely nodded along as Sugawara pulled him up and helped escort him to the vehicle. They rushed to the hospital. Practice was cancelled for the rest of the day.

The rest passes through much of Kei's mind in a blur.

It's suppressed, mostly, because if he lives the rest of his life recounting the last twelve weeks that has brought him to where he is here, he'd probably go insane. Not that he wasn't already on the brink of it already, but alas, man is an animal, a slave fallen prey to its own instinct, and there is much that the human brain will allow itself to do for the benefit of ensuring its own survival.

In brief, Kei can recall at least this much: Kageyama in school the next morning with a sterile gauze taped to the base of his neck. A bruise on Ennoshita's forearm when he shows up in the afternoon – faintly tinted in a violet hue. Ukai's dim, glassy eyes and dulled out complexion when they pass by his store that same day. Tanaka missing from practice. Worried chatter from the third years; Asahi whispering frantically to Daichi that Nishinoya hasn't been replying since he'd left to visit his friend three days prior. Soon, more empty chairs in school. Quieter hallways. Mentions of a virus show up in the news; video coverage of a hospital commotion blaring on the TV.

His mother collapses one night while making dinner; her body pressed flush against the cold kitchen tile. There are bloodstains on the linoleum.

A patch of mottled skin.


	2. apocalypse now

here's another chapter finally set to the "present" timeline of the story! please expect slower updates from now on because i'm heading back to school come monday, but i'll still try to do my best to squeeze in some fic work sometime around the holidays (or weekends, if i'm lucky)

note: chapter title was taken from that american war movie i haven't yet watched

* * *

Kei wakes up in the back alley of a ransacked family restaurant with his face pressed uncomfortably cold against the damp concrete of the sidewalk. There's dirt that cakes his fingers and grime smeared across his cheek, and his clothes are splattered with the blood of strangers he can't seem to name.

The sky tells him it's sometime around noon, what with the way the sun shines down on him almost mockingly, its harsh light forcing his vision into a narrow squint.

Kei elects to simply go back to sleep – roaming zombies be damned. It's too bright for him, he thinks, having never been born a morning person in all his sixteen years. He wonders if the infection would find him before he dies from natural causes. The boy morbidly considers placing a wager on a race between hordes of the undead and the massive pangs of his hunger: _which between the two would kill him first? _

(He's betting against the zombies. He hopes it won't be as painful.)

Kei resigns himself to his fate and waits for death to take him. He's too tired to move. He keeps his eyes closed.

The gods are on his side, probably, because a shadow hovers over him right then and graciously blocks his view from the sunlight. When Kei forces himself awake for a second time, he finds himself staring back into the gaze of one inquisitive golden eye.

"Hey, hey, hey!" a voice calls out loudly in greeting, just as suddenly as a gun is cocked against his temple and a heavy weight is pushed down firmly on his chest. A wooden club zooms into Kei's view in an instant, swung like a threat, its figure looming over his head without warning.

"H-Hi," Kei rasps, his voice gravelly and hoarse from disuse. How long has it been since he'd last spoken? Since he'd last talked to anyone? More than two weeks, at least that much he's sure. "It's...been a while, Bokuto-san."

The pressure on his chest loosens, and four sets of eyes look down at him curiously just as Kei finally meets their gaze.

.

"What're the chances we'd be running into you here, huh?" Bokuto exclaims as they huddled together on the floor of a nondescript cafe – their makeshift camp for the past few nights. "It must be fate, Tsukki!"

"Don't call me Tsukki."

"Then...Megane-kun?"

"No."

"Speaking of," Akaashi interrupts their banter calmly, "Tsukishima-san, what happened to your glasses anyway?"

"Yeah, we almost didn't recognize you out there without them!" Kuroo joins in.

"You mean, you almost killed me back there without them," Kei snarks, his tone lacking the usual bite. He busies himself with the remainder of a granola bar the spiker had gratuitously offered him earlier. Kei's hunger won out two hours ago and the team was thoroughly informed of this fact when his stomach grumbled loudly in complaint.

"Hey, hey! We're sorry already, it was an accident!" Bokuto whines and Kei nods to him in assent – an apology accepted. After all, how could he blame them? Kei's lost more weight than he could afford in the span of this apocalypse, having barely survived on food scraps he's scavenged from abandoned eateries, not to mention the fact that he'd spent every waking hour consistently on the run. He's probably malnourished, if not nearly emaciated. His face is pale, almost gaunt, and his eyes are sunk hollow and rimmed with dark circles. The rest of them look pretty beat up too, but Kei's case is without a doubt the worst of them all. He probably wouldn't have recognized himself at first glance either.

"They got broken a few weeks ago," Kei explains, shifting his attention back to Akaashi as he fishes them out of his bag. He holds out the object in question. "I damaged them during one of my escape attempts by accident. Since I only really need them to read, I started keeping them in a case to preserve them a bit longer whenever I'm out on transit. My eyesight's at least good enough to distinguish my surroundings and get away from...well, those things."

"I see," Akaashi hums. He gives Kei's glasses a quick look-over before picking them up carefully and handing them to the silent blond beside him. Kuroo shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over Kei's shoulders wordlessly.

"Kenma can fix that up for you easily," Kuroo tells him with a lazy grin, rooster-like hair sticking up oddly in familiar angles. "Now, I can't say I'm not glad to see you here with us, Tsukki, because this is a pretty sweet reunion honestly – diseased cannibalistic zombies aside – but could I ask what exactly brought you down to Tokyo? Everyone knows this city is the worst place to be in in the middle of an apocalypse, what with it being all dense and congested and highly virally populated."

"I was looking for my brother," Kei replies. "You guys probably heard about the lockdown in Sendai, right? Yamaguchi and I couldn't risk getting ourselves trapped in Miyagi. My brother told us to meet with him here so we could all relocate together somewhere safe, like the community shelters they put up further south. We were already in Fukushima by the time the state declared quarantine."

"Where?" Bokuto asks him suddenly.

"Huh? Fukushima. Weren't you listening?"

"No! _Uh,_ yes! Uh... I mean, your brother. Where was he staying? Do you remember where he was supposed to meet you in Tokyo? We can help look for him, if you'd like."

"No, it's...fine. You don't really have to bother."

"It's not a bother for us at all, Tsukishima-kun!" Bokuto encourages, his tone reassuring. "You don't have to be shy around us, you know. Just tell us where to start and we'll help you find your brother!"

"No, I'm not–" Kei shakes his head, not quite meeting the older boy's golden gaze. The younger boy grips on Kuroo's jacket tightly, grateful, pulling the fabric closer as he hugs his knees to his chest and folds in on himself. "It's not that...It's not that I'm being shy or anything. Really. I'm just saying you don't have to anymore because we–...er, I already found him."

The gears turn in Bokuto's head. Realization clicks, dawning on him instantly.

"Oh, man, I'm so sorry…"

"You don't have to apologize," Kei sighs, "it's not like it's your fault."

"Yeah but–"

"Oh-kay! It's getting late. How about we all call it a night and go to bed?" Kuroo cuts in smoothly with a soft clap, before Kei can say anything else. "It's been a long day and I know we're all feeling tired. Or, at least, I know Akaashi is, judging by the size of his designer eyebags over there. Our resident pretty boy seems long overdue for some beauty sleep."

The remark earns him a withering glare, as Kei notices the raven-haired setter shoot Nekoma's captain a brief look of irritation. Kuroo, on the other hand, remains undeterred and opts to pay Akaashi no mind.

"Kenma," Kuroo calls out instead as he heaves himself up from his seat in their circle, "can you take first watch?"

"Okay," Kenma agrees as he tucks his hair behind one ear, the action drawing Kei's attention to the stark white of his eyepatch. Kei knows better than to be rude and politely tries his best not to stare. "Try to sleep as much as you can," Kenma throws him a piece of tactful advice, "we usually head out once the sun rises in the morning."

.

"Gear up," a voice instructs as Kei stirs himself awake, cracking an eye open in a half-squint to reluctantly address its owner.

"Mm...?"

"Come on, lazy bones," Kuroo nags, nudging his forearm before pinching at his skin. The blond forcibly jolts up in surprise, and Kei fixes a weak glare towards his rooster-haired human alarm.

"What the fuck was that for?" Kei snaps, more out of instinct than anything else, but in his half-asleep state, the spite in his voice is washed out into a muddled threat, and the words come out of him in a comically slurred _Wha–fuck...wutthafor?_

"Good morning to you too, sleepyhead," Kuroo chuckles, laughing brightly at his expense. No wonder Kei hated dealing with morning people. "Oh man, you're worse than Kenma. Were you always this cranky during your training camps? Well, whatever. We're heading out in ten so take up your arms and let's go."

Kei looks at the Nekoma captain with a deadpan expression, knuckles rubbing at his eyes as he eases himself out of a groggy stupor.

"Your weapon, Tsukki. Your _weapon_," Kuroo clarifies emphatically with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. In the background, Akaashi fusses over taming Bokuto's strange case of bedhead hair, while Kenma seems to have given up on Kuroo's as though he'd deemed his childhood friend as some sort of lost cause.

"My...weapon?"

"Yeah. Isn't it, like, in your bag—er, pillow thing? I meant you should go fish it out before we leave base to hunt for breakfast."

Kei blinks at him once, his groggy mind slow to register, and does little else but to stare at Kuroo blankly until the older boy's words finally sink in.

"Oh." Kei tells him flatly, "I don't have one on me."

"What?!"

"_Shit_, Tsukki!" Bokuto exclaims, inserting himself into the conversation after having heard it all. "You've got some crazy fucking luck if you're telling us you've survived this far without ever holding a weapon in your hands."

Kuroo frowns at his friend's choice of expletives, but nevertheless places his hands on his hips and nods once in agreement. He turns his attention back to Kei, arms akimbo as he echoes the sentiment.

"Bo's got a point. How the hell did you get around Tokyo like that?"

"Since I started travelling alone, I focused on escaping the hordes whenever I'd get chased rather than picking fights with the infected," the blond explains with a shrug. "But when that didn't work, I'd just pick up what I could to kill them off. I just don't bother to carry them around because they slow me down when I run."

At the lack of meriting Kuroo's positive response, Kei tries to end the conversation with a grumbled half-sigh. "Look, Kuroo-san, it's not that big a deal," he says, "I'll just pick something or whatever up along the way, it's fine. Let's just go."

The former captain fixes Kei a look that tells him he's been entirely unconvinced. Kuroo's eyes flicker towards Kenma's for a brief moment, communicating his worries effortlessly as Kenma decidedly brings both himself and Akaashi into the conversation.

"We'll all head out together for now, but when we reach Nakano…" Kenma's voice trails off, his amber eye shining deep in pensive thought.

"When we reach Nakano, we'll split up into two units," Akaashi finishes for his fellow setter. By the looks of the rest of the team, Kei surmises that the others had already seen it coming. "Kozume and Bokuto-san will work together for the first, while Kuroo-san and I will accompany you for the second. What kind of weapons have you used, Tsukishima-san?"

"Crowbars, hammers, frying pans, and I guess blades if you count a kitchen knife I used one time," Kei rattles off a list. "Pretty much anything I find lying in my surroundings can be a weapon for me, I guess."

Kenma appears to consider this as he studies the young middle blocker. Kei feels himself squirm under the heat of the smaller boy's scrutiny; Akaashi interjects calmly with another one of his inquiries.

He asks, "How do you feel about firearms?"

"...Excuse me?"

"While I believe that your current repertoire would be good for close quarters combat, we believe it would be useful to teach you how to use a gun so you can defend yourself with a longer range," Akaashi continues in a casual tone, almost as if the topic was as mundane as the weather, or as though he was sharing his music preferences with Kei. "Bokuto-san used to operate in the same way, though he often preferred objects that ensured greater power and force to wield, but even then I taught him how to aim with the Arisaka as a precautionary measure. After all, the greater the distance, the less likely you risk exposing yourself to a bite."

"I...don't have a license," Kei tries to reason, though it falls on deaf ears. Akaashi pulls out a forty-five from the holster wrapped around his left thigh and holds it out to Kei, the raven-haired setter's outstretched hand cradling the pistol like an open invitation.

"And I'm one year too early from legally obtaining mine as well," Akaashi replies with an unimpassioned defense, capping it off with a nonchalant shrug. "Rest assured, Tsukishima-san, I'm quite certain our government has fallen under interregnum since the outbreak occurred. If the authorities haven't yet fallen ill from this epidemic themselves, none of them appear to have ever questioned the actions of us survivors in our efforts to do away with the infected."

In any other situation, Kei would have balked at the absurdity of their conversation, what with his level-headed upperclassman currently recommending to him an array of firearm models ranging from revolvers and rifles to pistols and shotguns, almost as casually as one would expect a teenager to recommend his peers bands and songs worth listening to. But this isn't any other situation, this was Tokyo in the heart of a zombie virus-ridden apocalypse, and Kei admits that Akaashi had made all the valid points to sell to him the appeal of shooting a gun.

So when Kei finally agrees to take him up on his offer with a muttered courtesy of _I'll be in your care, _Akaashi does little else but to offer a patient smile as he points out the safety and adjust the younger boy's grip before flicking the lever up once the rest of them had all stepped outside the cafe.


	3. unreal city

just a little something i made since our school's out for a mini holiday due to the virus scare. stay safe and healthy, everyone! :)

* * *

When the bullet ricochets against a building pillar instead of the sun sign target, Akaashi moves closer to inspect Kei's grip.

"Make sure your forearm is aligned with the pistol," he corrects, "and bend your knees a little more. It'll help with the recoil."

Kei nods attentively at the older boy's instructions. He pushes his glasses back up his nose, careful not to jostle the tape on its bridge and the tension of the thread pulled taut on its corners to hold it in place. Kenma told him the repairs had been a simple matter of second-year Physics, so Kei needn't handle his handiwork as gingerly as he first did. But still, Kei had reasoned, one could never be too careful. Repairs were hard to come by in the midst of an apocalypse, not to mention an extra hassle to deal with.

Besides, if his glasses broke apart for a second time now, it wasn't like Kenma could fix them again in an instant. When they made it to Nakano, the team split up immediately just as planned. Bokuto and Kenma headed down further into Broadway while the rest of them stayed by the streets of Sun Mall, attempting target practice at Akaashi's behest.

"Hey," Kuroo pipes up from behind them, terribly bored with his role as observer relegated to the sidelines. "Let's try something else. Do you see her, Tsukki?"

"Her?"

"By the window," he addresses. "Ten o'clock. Lotteria."

Akaashi follows his gaze and nods in approval towards the target's direction. "Tsukishima-san," he calls evenly.

"Yes, Akaashi-san?"

The setter adjusts the web of his fingers and the curve of his wrist, moving smoothly to place a forty-five degree angle between the middle blocker's left hand and the handgun slide. Kei pulls the trigger. Akashi levels his voice down to a steady, trained whisper; calmly, he orders:

"_Shoot_."

Kei lets go. When the gun sounds off and the head of the infected rolls lifelessly onto the array of rice paper tiles, the bullet lands cleanly through the center of the girl's forehead.

His mentor graces him with a faint yet pleased smile. In the background, Kuroo lets out a low whistle in place of an applause.

"Nice kill," they tell him in unison, and it almost sounds proud.

.

Twenty minutes and seven infected targets collaboratively taken down later, the three of them follow after the first team and make their way into Broadway. They head past the maze of winding alleyways, instead trailing along the straight path of ransacked shops and deserted boutiques before proceeding to the level above.

"Where to next, Captain?" Akaashi asks right then and Kuroo scowls at the remark.

"I thought Bokuto was your captain."

Akaashi shrugs. "This isn't Fukurodani."

"It's not Nekoma either," the rooster-haired counters with a grimace.

They settle for the area by an abandoned bookstore. Kei wanders into the adjacent store to seek out a cleaner shirt for a change, while the older boys sift through manga shelves and stationery in search of survival supplies.

"Yes, well," the setter begins just as he pockets for himself a pack of paperclips and tosses his senior a roll of duct tape. "That doesn't change the fact that you're team leader and I'm second in command."

"Damn, Akaashi, could you _be_ even colder?!" Kuroo gibes, though he takes the adhesive from the younger boy with a small gesture of thanks. "First you throw the man under the bus now you're telling me you want to offer yourself up as my _vice_? What would Bokuto say?"

"Mm. He'll probably feel betrayed, I'm sure," Akaashi admits coolly, albeit with no remorse. "But let's be real, Kuroo-san. You and I both know that in terms of leadership, there's no other pair that would work as efficiently as ours."

"I work better with Kenma than I do with you," Kuroo counters with another petulant scowl. Akaashi ignores him and heads towards the merchandise, reaching for a travel guide from the top shelf and begins to flip through its pages boredly. Kuroo hands him another copy entitled _Discover Japan._ "Nah. Try this one instead."

"Yes, but Kozume hates attention. He'd do anything to avoid carrying that responsibility," the marksman flips Kuroo's recommendation open and plucks out a paper map folded neatly inside the cover. He skims over the rest of its contents in haste. "Like it or not, Captain_,_ I'm your second-best bet."

"Ugh. fine," Kuroo relents with a groan. "You have a point. Just make sure you don't call me that, especially around Bo."

"Yeah, yeah," the setter throws back at him flippantly, closing the book in his hand.

"I'm serious, Akaashi. I bet if he hears you, he'll cry."

"Whatever. That's fine," the younger boy answers with clear disinterest. He returns the travel guide to its place and picks out another book from the shelf. "Don't worry about him finding out our roles, Kuroo-san. I've already got that covered."

"You do?"

"Of course. I've wrangled his emotions often enough that I've mastered it by now," Akaashi declares with a small display of nonchalance, "down to a science."

"So does this mean our new set-up will make you my keeper now?" the captain questions warily.

"Nonsense, Kuroo-san. I'm not in the position to be giving you orders," his vice-captain tells him without batting an eye. Akaashi abruptly flips the book closed. "Plus, I highly doubt you'd ever listen to me. As for my case, you can trust that I'll shoot immediately upon your directive. Just say the word."

"You know," Kuroo observes, "I don't recall seeing you being even half this obedient with any of your other seniors."

At this, Akaashi laughs. "Only to you," he tacks on, teasing, "_Captain_."

"Ugh. Disgusting. Dude, just stop," Kuroo orders as he suppresses a shudder. "It's creepy when you try to sound sweet to me. You done here?"

"Yes, Captain."

"And again, drop the title."

"Yes, _pain-in-the-ass-Kuroo-san_."

"A little harsh, but I'll take it," Kuroo concedes, acquiescing. "You can be such a little shit sometimes, honestly.

"I know," Akaashi hums in agreement as he fishes out a paperclip before sauntering towards the cashier area.

"I mean," Kuroo follows suit, before leaning against the counter and prattling his apprehensions in apparent agony, "think about what Bo will feel when he hears you. When he finds out you're calling someone else by the title of 'captain.' Think about it, Akaashi! What ever happened to your loyalty?"

"I've promoted him to the title of boyfriend," Akaashi announces to him casually in turn, and his words leave the older boy frozen stunned. "Bokuto-san already knows how much I love him. Now, he has no need to question my loyalty any further."

"Oh."

"Yes, Kuroo-san. 'Oh.'"

"Wow," Kuroo blinks. "I mean. Okay, wow. Congratulations. I'm kinda surprised but also kinda not. I'm happy for you both though, just so you know. Also, what are you doing?"

"Getting us a drink."

"What?"

"I'm grabbing some change we can use for the vending machine outside."

"Are you literally _stealing_ money from this bookstore to make a _purchase_ from a vending machine?!"

"_Thief's honor_," Akaashi tells him in a tone graced with faux solemnity, before promptly tempering the other's nerves by way of explanation. The raven-haired setter picks at the lock, and the register finally dings open when the paperclip hits the right angle in lieu of a key. "Also, the vending machine's got a tubular lock, and those take more time to work with."

"Okay, makes sense. Carry on then, my criminal kouhai. Do you think there's enough to get me an Aquarius?"

.

The team regroups outside of Broadway not long after. Bokuto and Kenma heave two full bags of food supplies, enough to get them through the month, while Kuroo and Akaashi flaunt their new loot of survival essentials. There's a bag of cool beverages for each of them to spare, courtesy of their self-designated vice-captain's newfound sense of generosity.

Meanwhile, Kei had redone his wardrobe, discarding his previously bloodied get-up by donning a fresh grey shirt and dark navy pants. There are two bundles of jackets he holds in his hands.

"Kuroo-san," he calls out to his senior, handing him back his jacket with an outstretched arm. The older boy smiles back at him, relinquishing his hold.

"No. I'm fine," Kuroo tells him, claiming he doesn't feel all that cold. "You keep it."

"It could be cold later, Kuroo-san," Kei answers back. 'Thank you for your hospitality, but I already got another one of my own."

"Then I'll take this one instead," Kuroo decides as he reaches for the plain black jacket in the other boy's arms. He grins. "Red looks better on you, anyway."


	4. in faint moonlight, only the wind's home

chapter title taken from the waste land by t.s. eliot

* * *

Kei wakes in the middle of the night, eyes bolting open to a clear picture of the dark.

Kuroo is curled up beside him, a gentle warmth pressed against his side. There's a light snore that escapes the older boy, and it tumbles out his lips in a low and steady rumble. Kei takes in the steady sound of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest; lets himself be comforted by the weight of another human presence. As his companion dreams on, Kei shifts from where he lies.

"Can't sleep?" the wind carries him a question. Akaashi's voice is gentle like the evening breeze, his tone as tender as the mercy of the night.

"Yeah," Kei answers quietly, careful not to wake the others. There's a rustle of fabric as he moves to face the boy on the other side. Akaashi sits by the window with a gun on his lap, his features cast under the faint glow of moonlight and the intermittent flicker of a solitary streetlamp. "I haven't been able to in a while."

Akaashi hums in understanding, settling his gaze back to the view outside the cafe window – a solitary night watch with nothing much left to note. His senses fall towards the infrequent creaks and cracks of an undead city, empty streets that speak of a secret tucked within the shadows of the quiet darkness beyond.

"I used to be the same," Akaashi murmurs, discerning. "Do you have nightmares at times?"

Kei nods in response, though he doesn't quite offer much else, and the setter takes this as a cue to continue.

"I often did. Whenever I'd closed my eyes and let down my defences, all I could see were clamoring figures of the infected, the pained faces of my family and friends in their final moments before they succumbed to the sickness. I hardly ever slept back then. It was unhealthy, but with such tormenting dreams, I made myself never want to."

"How did you make them stop?"

"Bokuto-san would make me talk him through my nightmares whenever they happened, "Akaashi explains, his quiet voice both soft and yet sure, "It helps to talk about them, I think. I was forced to confront my fears whenever I articulated my problems to him, so there was no longer a need for me to be reminded by my subconscious."

The older boy turns to Kei with a faint tilt of his head, his expression softened by a knowing gaze and a patient smile.

"Of course, that was all just from my experience, so I won't force you to discuss your problems with me if it makes you uncomfortable, Tsukishima-san," Akaashi offers, "but if you think it would help for you to have somebody to listen, I honestly wouldn't mind sharing my company."

There's a certain kindness to Akaashi's presence, a pleasant warmth that comes across to Kei as something that is both foreign and yet familiar, and Kei feels himself slip almost unknowingly into the pull of the other boy's gravity. He clears his throat to speak.

"When... my mom got sick," Kei begins to recount, "I killed her first before she had the chance to turn."

Akaashi says nothing, still. He simply listens, allowing Kei to bide his time before he musters enough courage to continue.

"My mom caught it early," he says. "She collapsed two weeks into the outbreak. We were supposed to have dinner together that night, and I was going to help her with the cooking so she could get some rest because I thought she looked a little tired. When I stood up and got nearer to her, I saw _it _and the first thing that came to my mind was Hinata."

"Hinata-san?"

"He was the first one to get sick in Karasuno, I was there on the morning when he turned."

Kei remembers what the virus did to him. What all the symptoms looked like put together. He tells Akaashi about his mother's purple bruise, the way the pattern of her veins were like imprints surrounding the nape of her neck, how her marks were all the same telltale signs as that of Hinata's.

"I knew she was infected. I think my mind blanked out from the shock of me having realized it. When I finally came to, I found my mom lying lifelessly on the floor with a knife rammed through the base of her skull."

Kei swallows thickly.

"I didn't try to help her, or wait and call for an ambulance. I don't even know why I did it – she didn't attack me, or turn on me, or show that she was going to use any kind of force. She was just sick and I was afraid. I could've just as easily chosen to run away."

Akaashi nods at Kei mutely, thoughtful enough to spare him from judgment.

"Instead I stabbed my own mother and left her to bleed to death in our kitchen, while I packed up my bag and ran straight to Yamaguchi's. I didn't know where else to go."

"Are you saying the memory of your dead mother is haunting you in your sleep?"

"No," Kei admits quietly, "it's Yamaguchi's."

He pauses once; takes in a shuddering breath.

"I already told you guys about my brother Akiteru. He and I aren't really close. We used to be, but then things happened and it was only recently that we've been trying to fix it. It got better, at least. The last conversation I had with my brother was after I just killed our mom."

"I see…"

"He wasn't even mad when I told him about it. All he told me was that he understood, that he was glad I was safe and that I did the right thing even if it was hard. Then to go to Tokyo as soon as we can. He called me his baby brother again and asked Yamaguchi to protect me. I sneered at that, you know. I told him I wasn't a child anymore and didn't need to be babied. Yamaguchi didn't need to take care of me, I could take care of myself. I could take care of the both of us, I said."

Kei takes it upon himself to continue.

"Yamaguchi and I headed for Tokyo to meet him but we had to travel on foot. Neither of us could drive. It was already late that night and the trains were probably down, but even if they weren't, it wouldn't have been safe to be trapped in a closed vehicle for two hours with no means of escape if even just one infected had been on the same train as us. There was also a good chance that the stations would be crowded. It was too much of a risk."

Again, Akaashi remains silent, a picture of bewilderment painted clearly over his features.

"Yamaguchi insisted we take our time. It was always better to be safe than sorry, and I agreed with him because he had a point. We reached Tokyo in two weeks, because besides having to scavenge for food and water and looking for safe places to sleep and all those basic survival logistics, we also had to start getting into the habit of killing those things because they would keep trying to eat us. But we were too slow, I guess, or maybe two weeks had just been too late. By the time we found my brother, he had already turned."

Kei rests his eyes closed for a minute, grateful for Akaashi's charity – how he is patient in the way he allows for the younger boy to settle first his thoughts before attempting to fill in the silence.

"My mind shut down again when it happened. Yamaguchi had to cover for me when I froze after seeing my brother's face reaching out of the sea of the infected. I watched my best friend cry while he decapitated my older brother in order to protect me. And then I watched him cry harder when he apologized to me for being careless after telling me he'd gotten bitten in the process."

There's another moment of silence; another stuttering breath. The setter sits by the windowpane, unmoving, and waits once more for Kei to speak.

"He asked me to kill him," Kei tells Akaashi at last, "right after we escaped the horde and I carried Yamaguchi back to where we based our shelter. They got him in the hand. The infection was already settling in his system long enough to spread from the site of the bite and reach all the way past his shoulders. He told me that his body was turning numb, that he could barely move. That he was sorry he had to ask me to bash his head in like it was some kind of morbid favor simply because he didn't have the energy to do the killing deed all on his own."

"So you did," Akaashi finishes for him.

"So I did," Kei agrees softly.

The gunman regards the middle blocker with a pensive expression, hooded blue-green eyes deliberate in their scrutiny as he contemplated over the right turn of phrase – sifting through the words as he picked at his thoughts.

"I don't think it was...wrong," Akaashi concludes with a finality. "You obviously did the right thing, Tsukishima-san, and I know that you know that even if you felt it had been a difficult choice for you to make back then."

_What do you mean? _Kei can't help but ask. In what world could killing innocent people – his mother and his best friend – ever be considered as doing the right thing?

"The point is...I think...you did the right thing not because you killed for survival – which, I believe, is a behavior that is somewhat right and correct in itself – but because you reacted in accordance to a basic moral standpoint, in a way that paid respect to their humanity. You granted their wish to die as what they are, as humans up until their final moments, instead of letting them deteriorate under the illness and waste away into a mindless cannibalistic creature in the end," Akaashi tells the blond boy grimly. "And while it may hurt you, understandably – your pain and your fear and your emotions are all still valid – you need to remember that there's nobody faulting you for your actions. Least of all, your mother and Yamaguchi-san. They wouldn't hold a grudge against you for what you had done, because you simply did what you had to do."

Maybe Akaashi had noticed the waver in his expression right then, the way Kei's eyes shone with the burden of an overwhelming sense of guilt, but he continues on anyway and he manages to answer Kei's question before the words could form, unbidden, on the edge of the younger boy's tongue.

"And perhaps you could be right, Tsukishima-san, maybe that does make you a murderer," Akaashi admits to him ruefully, with a small and weary smile. "But in this world, aren't we all?"

He returns Kei's perplexed gaze with an exhausted one of his own, the setter's tired eyes knowing with an unspoken recognition and yet heavy in their reticence. Akaashi catches himself in his emotions, feigning a yawn that he plays up to fatigue.

"I'm going back to bed," Kei announces in a hushed voice, and Akaashi is quick to pick up the hint.

"Yes, alright," Akaashi replies as he smiles back at the first year, small still and yet warmer this time. "I believe it's time for me to swap shifts with Bokuto-san now as well. We've discussed much for tonight, but if you feel the need to wake me again, please don't hesitate to do so."

Kei nods, tucking Kuroo's jacket up to his chin like a makeshift blanket and before plopping his head back down on his backpack-turned-pillow. He closes his eyes.

"Thank you, Akaashi-san."

"Of course," the older boy tells him softly. "Anytime."

Kei lets his mind carry him weightlessly in his slumber, a small comfort he'd long since unfelt now returning to him like a welcome sensation, washing over his senses completely for the first time in two months. He sighs.

_Good night, Tsukishima-san, _he hears Akaashi whisper seconds before he'd drifted off to sleep. Kei lets himself wander in his dreams, his mind bringing him back to times when school once occupied his mornings and the noisy chatter of his classmates stretched out late into languid afternoons; when volleyball practices once saturated his days with drills that left his muscles sore with a familiar, lingering ache; when the streets of Miyagi had bustled noisily with life in the years before the outbreak; when his world had seemed no bigger than the patient company of a boy, whose freckles dusted his cheek and feet stumbled to match his pace, always walking alongside Kei on the sloping roads they took whenever they made their way back home.


	5. heaven on earth

hi pls have a short bokuaka in the meantime. next chapter will be a bit longer! ;)

* * *

"Bokuto-san, cover!"

"Left! Left!"

"Kuro, behind you–!"

Kei shoots three bullets in rapid succession. He successfully takes down two.

"Fuck!"

Kei reloads his pistol and throws away the used magazine. A horde had chased after them when their team made the mistake of crossing the path of Tochomae station on their way out of the supermarket. In the distance, Kuroo is screaming profanities while Bokuto cheers by the turnstiles, brain matter and zombie guts flying spectacularly off to the side. Kei shoots three more of the infected in the head. They keep running.

"Tsukki, nice save!"

Kei is about to aim for another target when Kenma's voice calls their attention.

"Inside!" Kenma yells as he points to a set of revolving glass doors. "Now!"

The team heeds his orders and rush into the building, with Kuroo leading the way as they rush past the reception hall and dart up the frozen escalator in an attempt to shake off the undead. Bokuto and Akaashi man the rear and work towards blasting off the remaining infected that nip at their heels.

They reach the fourth floor when Kuroo decides they've secured enough elevation. They wander through the hall until they come across a pair of heavy double doors and Kei observes it could be strong enough to guard them from the infected.

"Let's set up base here for tonight," suggests Akaashi, who seems to be on the same page as Kei. "Kuroo-san? What do you think?"

"Nishiki...?" Bokuto scrunches his brows as he reads the title card outside the doorway. "Are we camping out in a clothes store this time?"

"No, Bokuto," Kenma mumbles, "it's a ballroom. Hotels just like to give their events spaces fancy names."

Kuroo takes a peek inside, glancing around at the crystal chandeliers and velvet curtains. The room was spacious yet ornately designed, its walls done up in dark lacquered wood, and its carpet remained mostly clean. Music continued to blare through the speakers, and one of the lights in the far-left corner of the room was busted. Two rows of buffet tables were set up, with the food stored in the catering trays already spoiled rotten, but there were still a couple bottles of alcohol and water available that seemed clean and safe enough to consume. Most important of all, the room was empty. Not a single undead in sight.

Kuroo smiles to himself, instantly on board with Akaashi's – and Kei's – idea. He leads the rest of the team inside. Once Akaashi had ordered Bokuto to seal the door closed, Kuroo makes a beeline for the champagne flutes and plucks out a glass.

"Kuroo-san, what are you–"

Kei spots a banner hanging over the side of the stage and reads the message printed out in bold. Everything clicks.

"We are gathered here today," Kuroo announces with theatrical flair, "to celebrate the union of my two greatest friends – second to Kenma – in the whole wide world. Congratulations on your wedding, Bokuto and Akaashi!" He winks at Akaashi. "I told you I'd support you guys, didn't I?"

Kuroo raises his glass.

"Bokuto, thanks for always acknowledging me as your best bro – er, I mean best man – but alas, today isn't about me! Today we celebrate the fact that Akaashi has always been the _better man, _for you. Two years ago, I remember…"

Kei helps Kenma usher the couple towards the front stage while Kuroo begins to drone on about the power of love and the purity of highschool sweethearts. The impromptu speech lasts a whole five minutes before Kuroo concludes with a fake toast – for props. Kuroo doesn't drink a single drop.

They start the 'party' after that. Kuroo moves to dance with Kei because Kenma doesn't like dancing and much prefers watching the chaos unravel from the sidelines. Unfortunately for them, Kei was born with two left feet and has no dancing ability or muscle in him whatsoever so Kuroo graciously offers to lead the taller gangly blond instead. Bokuto and Akaashi, too, join them on the floor for a slow dance of their own, arms wrapped around the other in an embrace as their bodies sway from side to side.

When Kei sneaks away to take a break, Bokuto and Akaashi, too, move to sit at one of the guest tables and rest.

"This is nice, isn't it?" Akaashi says softly, propping his elbows onto the table to rest his chin atop his hands. He watches as Kuroo pulls Kenma towards his side to dance a carefree waltz with their resident wallflower and allows himself a small laugh.

"Yeah," Bokuto agrees, joining him. He reaches for Akaashi's hand. "Hey, Akaashi?"

"Yes, Bokuto-san?"

Bokuto deftly slips a ring on his finger.

"Let's get married," Bokuto says.

Akaashi raises his brow.

"Aren't we already?" he answers playfully as his lips quirk up into a smile. He waves a hand to gesture vaguely towards their captain. "I mean...according to Kuroo-san, this is literally our reception."

Bokuto shakes his head. "No! I mean...a real one. After all this, let's get married for real."

"This one's pretty real for me," Akaashi tells him softly, a small smile on his face; fingertips toying with the paper ring on his left hand. It's a flimsy little thing made out of a rolled-up table napkin that fits loosely around Akaashi's slender ring finger, but somehow, Akaashi allows himself to think, it fits perfectly.

"Akaashi!" Bokuto whines, "I'm being serious right now. Hear me out for a minute at least, won't ya?"

"Fine, fine," Akaashi chuckles. "Let's hear it then," he gives in. "And for the record, yes, I would love to marry you for real, Bokuto-s–..._Koutarou._"

Bokuto turns red instantly and hides his face in his hands. Akaashi too turns away briefly to avoid staring straight ahead.

"Well_,"_ Bokuto coughs to clear his throat. They both attempt to compose themselves. "No offense to my best bro, of course, for organizing all...this...but I think we could do a lot better with the wedding planning."

Akaashi hums, smiling. "Okay then. What did you have in mind?" he asks.

"For starters, we'd host it in a resort by the beach," Bokuto begins, "Maybe somewhere in Okinawa? How's that?"

"Why Okinawa?"

"Don't you think the sound of the waves in the background will be calming? Romantic?" Bokuto beams.

"That's true," Akaashi follows, nodding. "And then?"

"And then we'd invite all our families and friends," Bokuto continues. "The whole team would be there once we reunite with them. Konoha, Sarukui, Komi, Washio, Kaori, Yukie...and of course Yamiji-sensei. Tsukki's teammates are all invited too, even if I'm not all that close with the rest of them yet." He grins. "I want Hinata to be our ring bearer."

"_Ah_," Bokuto quickly interjects before Akaashi can think to cut him off, "but even if we invite the other teams, I'd pattern our dress code after the colors of Fukurodani. Do you want to wear black or gold? Or white? I like you in white. Maybe I should go with the black tux and you should wear the white. You're already pretty enough, Keiji," Bokuto smiles. "Let me make you my bride."

Akaashi flushes at his words.

"The whole ceremony will be indoors, of course, because I know you, and I know you don't want the sand to get in your shoes or eyes and whatever," Bokuto replies, "But, more importantly, if we hold it in Okinawa, our buffet would be full of seafood! Like lobsters and king crabs and oysters and those stuffed prawns, you know, the ones you really like. It'd be so grand–"

"A feast fit for kings," Akaashi remarks as Bokuto nods with glee.

"Then we can watch the sunset afterwards…? Or before?" Bokuto asks, momentarily unsure of himself. "Keiji, do you want a daytime wedding or evening one?"

"Daytime," Akaashi answers. "We'll have nicer photos that way. Better lighting."

"Daytime it is, then," Bokuto agrees. "A bright summer day in July. What do you think?"

"Sounds perfect," Akaashi smiles. "I can't wait."

"Me too." Bokuto whispers hoarsely with a squeeze of his hand. "After all this."

"After all this," Akaashi agrees and gently squeezes back.

* * *

also happy haikyuu wedding week? lmao tbh i was not informed


	6. homeward

as promised, here's the next update. :) a slice of their post-apocalyptic life. let's enjoy these moments while we still can, shall we? hehehe

* * *

"What're you guys watching?"

"Some Western movie," Kei tells Bokuto as he walks into the living room. They're camping in an abandoned unit on the third floor of a middle class apartment complex, with the front door blocked off and windows all boarded up. It was a lucky find for the team during their morning patrol, all thanks to a certain wing spiker's penchant for exploration. The pipes in the building are busted, so the taps don't give out any clean water, but at least the electricity is still running. Nobody pays the bills anymore, but then again, nobody is here to cut off the meter either.

"Kenma found a DVD in the kid's room," Kuroo explains from his seat adjacent to Kei. "'Dunno the title but it looked interesting enough to watch." He shrugs. Not like they had a choice, given that even if the family owning this unit did have a cable subscription, all of Japan's TV networks had long stopped broadcasting anything for weeks now.

"Yay! I always loved movie nights!" Bokuto cheers as he plops down on the opposite end of the couch to sit beside Akaashi. Kenma scoots away from his spot on the floor to give the older boy room. "Oh, hey, isn't that guy dead?"

"Him and the rest of the cast, I imagine," Akaashi remarks dryly.

"Yeah," Kenma confirms, not bothering to turn his gaze away from the medium-sized TV screen. "Got taken down by Kuroo last month with his MAG-7. The airport was a mess."

"What were you two doing at the airport?" Kei asks.

"Kenma's always dreamed of eloping to the Bahamas with me," Kuroo is quick to answer breezily, "I figured with finances being tight during this apocalypse we could forego the marriage ceremony and skip straight ahead to our honeymoon."

"Don't be annoying, Kuro," Kenma rolls his eyes. "We were looking for a plane we could hijack for our escape," he explains.

"Woah! Bro, you never told me you knew how to fly a plane! That's so cool, Kuroo!"

"Bokuto-san, I'm sure that's not exactly wh–"

"Oh? Do you mean it's Kenma? Damn, Pudding-kun, you're such a badass!"

"Yeah, bro, you're right. He totally is."

"No." Kenma frowns. "Am _not_."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too," Kuroo shoots back at him with a lazy grin, before turning to face Bokuto again, "but anyway...I gotta be real with you, man, neither of us actually know how to fly a plane. We just wanted to try our luck."

"Yeah. But it turned out that we didn't have any at all," Kenma fills in, eager to steer the topic of the conversation away from him, "the whole place was swarming by the time we got there..."

"Well, kitten, I wouldn't exactly say we didn't have _any–"_

"...and even after Kuro nabbed a gun off one of the security personnel to shoot at the hordes, the planes we found were either broken down or fully booked with the infected so..."

"– I mean, I had you with me the whole time, didn't I, Kenma?" Kuroo talks over his voice to halt him, and Kenma shoots Kuroo a look. Kei politely pretends to ignore the faint blush that creeps onto the smaller boy's cheeks. "I'd say that was plenty lucky." Kuroo grins.

"_Okay, _that's our cue," Akaashi's voice smoothly cuts in. He taps Bokuto on the shoulder. "Get up, Bokuto-san. Time to go."

"Go where?" Bokuto briefly turns away from the display of cars racing on screen. He looks up at Akaashi when the setter stands. "Where are we going?"

"Out," Akaashi tells him, raising his hand over his shoulder to point towards the _genkan_ with his thumb by way of explanation.

"Wha–?" Bokuto blinks back at him, confused, "but we already closed off the door...?"

"The kitchen, then," Akaashi shrugs.

"But 'Kaashi!" Bokuto gestures emphatically, hand waving towards the television. He whines, "At least let me finish the movie!"

Akaashi rolls his eyes. "You can watch it again later, Bokuto-san. I'll even join you," he tells the older boy off, "but right now, I have things to do. You're coming with me."

"Why me?"

"Because _you're_ things," Akaashi hisses, grabbing Bokuto by the wrist to drag him towards the bedroom. "Come on."

"Are they always like that?" Kei asks a minute after the two boys hastily make their exit, warily eyeing the door as Akaashi shuts it closed behind them.

"Huh?" Kuroo responds, distracted by the movie playing on screen. "Oh, yeah. Bokuto's a touchy guy so the whole skinship thing really helps him cope with stress. Meanwhile, pretty boy's just got needs like the rest of us. Kenma, turn up the volume, would you?"

There's a loud thud that comes from the direction of the bedroom. Both Kuroo and Kei startle at the noise; Kenma doesn't even flinch.

"They're at it again," Kenma intones boredly, diligently cranking up the volume with the remote.

"Well, they are newlyweds. And Akaashi did make his intentions clear earlier," Kuroo comments, intent on fixing his attention towards the TV. "You and I both know he's not the type to kid about these things. They're officially a thing now, by the way," he addresses his advice to Kei, "so you can expect _that_ to happen more often."

"I know," Kenma grumbles from the floor with a remorseful sigh. "They're just like rabbits."

"No," Kuroo replies with a pout. "Like cats."

"Cats?" Kei blinks.

"Have you ever heard cats mate before?" Kuroo answers with a suppressed shudder, tone vehement and crimson eyes sharp. They hear the faint thump of furniture.

Kei shakes his head. "No, I don't think I have..."

"Don't mind him," Kenma's voice cuts in as Kei's train of thought trails off, "Kuro likes watching weird videos about animal mating calls on the internet," Kenma warns Kei. "It started when Bokuto asked him about the owls. Trust me, you wouldn't want to know."

They hear the sound of creaking wood and yet another stifled moan released from behind seemingly paper-thin walls. Kenma cringes and rolls his eyes.

_Jesus_, Bokuto.

"See?" Kuroo says smugly as Kenma curls in on himself and pulls the hood of his jacket over his head. Kuroo wriggles his brows suggestively. Another inexplicable human sound. "Like two cats breeding the devil's spawn."

Kei can't help it; he bursts out laughing. Kenma, too, lets out a snort and Kuroo joins in on them as he clutches at his side and cackles with glee. This is ridiculous, Kei can't help but think – they're three teenage boys constructing animal jokes at their friends' expense as said friends spend the night snogging one another in the next room over. It's stupid and silly but it's also kind of nice_. _Kei lets the sound of their laughter fill his senses; lets himself pretend that everything is fine and normal and ordinary; lets himself forget that their world had long since ended on a cold day in January three months ago – if only for tonight.

.

"Paging Tsukki...Tsukki...earth to Tsukki...hey…hey, Tsukki!"

Kei picks up the distant sound of Kuroo's voice later in the evening, urgent though hushed, and he forces his eyes open when calloused fingers press into his arm and forcefully shake him awake.

"What is it?" Kei squints as he reaches for his glasses on the coffee table, rising from where he'd fallen asleep on the sofa. He puts them on.

"Help me out here, would ya?" Kuroo says as he turns away from him to fix his attention onto the door. Kuroo's face is pale, but his eyes glint dangerously beneath the dim light. Kei picks up the faint noise of scratching from outside, the heavy dragging of feet – telltale signs of their base marked by the infected. Judging by the looks – or sounds? – of things, there's probably two...three? No, four of them.

Kei reaches for his gun on instinct but Kuroo grabs his wrist quickly to stop him.

"That'll be too loud," Kuroo says, instead thrusting his knife into Kei's open palm. "I'll lend you this instead. Save your ammo for now, we can manage. Let's just try not to wake them."

"Okay." Kei nods.

Kuroo and Kei work together to push the shoe cabinet they've used to block the front door. Kei wipes the sweat off his brow and turns to face his senior.

"Ready, Kuroo-san?"

Kuroo gets into position and Kei watches his expression harden into something cold and fierce like steel, before he tightens his grip onto the knife and moves to unfasten the security chain.

"On the count of the three, then," Kei warns, undoing the first lock, "One…"

"Two..." Kuroo continues evenly. Kei slides back the deadbolt.

"Three!" they say in unison as Kei swivels the door open and Kuroo thrusts his knife forward in an instant, squarely hitting the infected just an inch above its right eye. Kuroo kicks it aside when its corpse falls to his feet, and Kei promptly follows suit when Kuroo steps out the door to face the rest of the undead.

Kei makes sure to close the door behind them.

Kuroo moves swiftly when in combat, cat-like reflexes allowing him to attack and defend himself at the same time. Nimbly, he decapitates one zombie with a simple flick of his wrist, before promptly ducking down in a fluid motion when the other snaps forward in an attempt to launch itself at his face with its teeth. Kei whips his head to dodge the half-rotten hand that reaches out from behind him, before stabbing its owner right in the middle of its forehead.

"Good hit," Kuroo cheers in the background.

Kei pulls his gaze away to face his senior once again. Kuroo squats down to retrieve one of his knives, plucking it out of the infected's skull before he wipes it down on the cloth of the zombie's tattered t-shirt.

"Thanks for your help, Tsukki," Kuroo says, grinning once he stands. "You can go back to sleep now."

Kei shakes his head. "I doubt I can, after all that. Want me to take over for the rest of your watch?"

"Nah, I'm good. I drank the last can of coffee we had earlier," Kuroo tells him with a shrug. "Wanna go out with me then?"

"What?" Kei immediately takes a step back.

"I didn't mean it like that, stupid," Kuroo smirks as he looks at Kei's horrified expression. He points down to a small plot of land with a weather-worn see-saw and a pair of rusted swings. "There's a children's park downstairs near the front gate. We can just lounge by the playground."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Kei asks, bewildered, "Aren't we supposed to stay here to keep watch on the unit?"

"Worry not, my dear Tsukki! Our zombie friends are very social creatures, you see, so they like to move around in groups," Kuroo answers breezily as he pretends to wave Kei's worries away with his hand. "I'm pretty sure we took down all of them for this area, so we won't be getting more impromptu visits from any neighbors tonight. The unit's still visible from the park too, anyway. We can still keep an eye on things while we're down."

"Alright, Kuroo-san," Kei agrees, as they take the stairs and head towards the playground. They take to the swings – Kuroo kicking into the ground to launch his seat into the air; Kei rocking his seat in a slow and careful motion, forward and backward – each to each.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Kuroo says suddenly with a sigh, expression fond as his eyes bask in the view of the late hours of the evening.

"What is?" Kei asks, craning his neck to see. There's not a single star out in the sky. Kei furrows his brows, confused.

Kuroo doesn't answer him. He busies himself with the swings, letting himself follow along as his seat moves in a steady pace back and forth. It's quiet for a while, until Kuroo speaks up suddenly to talk about his past.

"You know," Kuroo says, and Kei's ears perk up instantly at the sound of the other's voice. "I really like science. Chemistry's my favorite subject, but I also know a lot about astronomy. I memorized all the constellations. It's not all that clear here in Tokyo because of the light pollution in the city, but if you look close enough, you can see some of them sometimes."

"Oh?"

"Do you wanna know why my hair sticks up this way?" Kuroo looks at Kei and asks him with a grin. Kei nods once in assent. He'd assumed it was hair wax, or generous servings of gel – but Kuroo's always boasted about how his looks were _au naturel_ and Kei can't keep himself from wondering how exactly his upperclassman had managed to defy the basic laws of gravity.

"Yeah, why?"

"Growing up, my parents always used to fight. I used to hate nighttime because that's when their quarrels would begin. My parents always fought after dinner, when they thought I'd already gone to bed," Kuroo shares. "But sometimes, their arguments would get too loud that I could hardly even sleep. So I'd use my pillows and press them against my ears to block out the noise. Then I'd wake up the next morning and my hair would look like this."

Kuroo points to his bangs and lets out a laugh. Kei can hardly join him, mumbling an awkward apology instead because he hadn't known that things in Kuroo's household had been so bad.

"It's fine," Kuroo says, his tone reassuring. "They split up eventually. I think I was around eight back then. I was a country bumpkin just like you before, you know. I'm not really a full-fledged city boy. We used to live in Shizuoka but after the divorce, I moved to Tokyo with my dad to live with my grandparents. That's when I met Kenma."

"I see…"

"But the nights were suddenly quiet again, and since I got so used to hearing things being loud in the background, it kinda became unnerving. I used to lie in the dark just doing nothing, not even going to sleep, and that wasn't healthy." Kuroo's face softens, though his hands grip themselves firmly on the metal chains. "Then Kenma found out about it. He asked me if i had sleeping problems one time because he'd always be up late or waking up super early to play his games, and always saw the light on in my room. He told me about stargazing to try to calm myself down."

"That was a good idea," Kei comments. Kuroo turns to face him and flashes him a small smile in agreement. When Kei looks at him back, there are stars in his eyes.

"It was," Kuroo agrees. "It worked for me too. Everytime I'd get plagued with insomnia, I'd just start looking up at the stars to make myself comfortable enough so I could make myself go to sleep. I adjusted and then things got better, but– _ah_," Kuroo quickly interjects, "I never did grow out of sleeping with the pillows pressed against my ears, though. You could say it was a habit," he jokes.

Kuroo stops swinging, and plants his feet firmly onto the ground.

"But then," Kuroo says, and Kei is quick to listen, "those nights I used to hate so much suddenly became a source of comfort. The sight of the night sky quickly became my favorite. It always showed me the most beautiful things."

"Like what, Kuroo-san?" Kei asks. "What do you see?"

"Constellations," Kuroo tells him as he points a finger up to the sky and traces a phoenix in the air. "Over there would be Houou," Kuroo pinpoints, "and Oushi," he leads his finger forward, "opposite Sasori," he moves back down, "then _Tsukki_," he lands on the moon.

Kei scowls. "Stop screwing around, Kuroo-san," he crosses his arms.

"Just kidding," Kuroo chuckles. The evening air is chilled and crisp against Kei's skin, but the sound of Kuroo's laughter feels wholly vibrant and warm. "The rest of them are real, though," Kuroo tells him. "I memorized coordinates to locate them all. So if we're facing north right now, which I think we are, then those would be where they'd all be at."

"Okay then."

"Pretty cool, huh?"

Kei looks up and imagines comets streaking through the stratosphere, of deities that shine stark still through the rippling night sky. He closes his eyes; makes a wish.

"Yeah," Kei agrees. "Pretty cool."

The stars are beautiful out tonight.


	7. multifoliate rose

akatsukki friendship rights! :D :D

* * *

Kei pops the question one morning over their breakfast of canned beans and half a box of expired cereal. They've rationed it amongst themselves, seeing as how it's the last of their stock for the week.

"Do we even have a plan?" he asks.

Kuroo answers him as he talks around his food. "Uh, staying alive?"

"Uh, uh, uh, uh, staying alive! Staying alive!" Bokuto sings playfully, remembering an old tune. Kenma rolls his eyes. Akaashi seems to have been expecting it.

"I mean...how exactly are we supposed to do that?" Kei clarifies. "Are we meant to go anywhere? If so, then where are we going?"

The apartment they've raided had become home base for a while. Not many of the undead seem to pass by the quaint residential area, and Kuroo and Kei had already wiped out all of the building's infected inhabitants a week earlier. Plus, there had been a handful of abandoned convenience stores nearby that made for easy looting. Still, however, Kei knows their supplies won't last forever. Food safe for consumption is scarce to come by, and it isn't like they can just start planting fruits and vegetables in the cracked earth of the parched garden lot. They probably have a month here at best – or maybe a month and a half, if Kei feels optimistic – before their team will be forced to pack up their bags and return to their life as nomads.

"Well," Kuroo tells him, "we were trying to fly out of here–"

"But that was a bust," Bokuto not-so-helpfully supplies.

"Yeah. It was," Kuroo admits grimly. "So our new plan is to head to Tokyo Harbor. We'll try for the ships so we can sail out, hopefully to find a deserted island free from the infection or something."

"We're not particularly rushing, though," Kenma explains. "I'd prefer we move slowly and be careful about things than to jump out there unprepared. Kuro wasn't joking. As long as we're alive, we'll make it."

"Slow but steady wins the race!" Bokuto pipes up brightly, before whipping his head around to face his partner. "Did I use that saying correctly, Akaashi?"

A nod. "Yes you did, Bokuto-san."

"Poor Tsukki," Kuroo suddenly coos. "Is the cabin fever getting to you already?"

"If you're so bored, how about you take over Kuroo's shift and join me for tomorrow's supply run?" Bokuto offers.

"Alright, th–"

"No, he'll join _me_," Akaashi swiftly cuts him off.

"What?! But, Akaashi, you just took the previous shift with Kenma last time!" Bokuto protests with a whine. "And with me the shift prior! And with Kuroo two shifts before that!"

"Which means I haven't had my turn with Tsukishima yet," Akaashi replies coolly, having dropped the honorific a few days back. "He and I can go together tomorrow."

"But Akaashi!" Bokuto insists, "Take a break sometimes, would ya? You gotta learn how to rest."

"I'm resting today," the raven-haired setter answers stubbornly as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, "so that Tsukishima and I can head out tomorrow."

"Yeah, but–"

"_Koutarou_, please. I'm fine. It'll be fine," Akaashi tells Bokuto with a peck on his cheek, before turning his attention back to his food. "I just need to do something instead of staying cooped up around here. You know how easily bored I get."

"_Keiji_," Bokuto says with a pout, "babe–"

"Really? You two? In front of my _beans_?" Kuroo pretends to scoff.

"Uhm–"

"Bokuto, quit whining to your trigger-happy boyfriend. If Akaashi wants to blast off zombies for personal stress relief, then by all means be my guest," Kuroo decides with an air of finality in his tone. Kei remembers hearing this voice when Kuroo would speak to the Nekoma team as captain during training camp last summer. "But, this is your last shift for the week, pretty boy. Bo's got a point, too. We can't let our dear gunman wear himself out. Bo and I will take over for the next one. You'll get your next turn after everyone else finishes the rotation. Got it?"

Akaashi nods. "Yes, Kuroo-san. Thank you."

"What about you?" Kenma turns to ask Kei. "Are you okay with going on patrol tomorrow?"

"I–"

"If you don't want to, Tsukki, we won't force ya!" Bokuto interjects. "Keiji and I can pair up inste–"

"_Tsukishima_ could use the target practice though," Akaashi remarks firmly, the sharp look in his eyes leaving no room for further questions. Kei nods at his mentor, taking the hint.

"I'm okay with it," Kei agrees. "I'll go with Akaashi-san."

.

They find a single roll of toilet paper in the back room of an abandoned 7-11, the door to the inventory labeled _7-12 _with a paper tacked on by an employee who probably thought it was some sort of witty joke. Kei wonders how long ago it's been since this convenience store had last sprung to life, or how quickly that poor employee had fallen prey to the infection. He stuffs the 2-ply into the bottom of his bag.

"Find anything?" Akaashi hollers from the candy shelves.

"Just some tissue," Kei answers as he jogs back. "You?"

"Two cans of corned beef and one pack of vienna sausages," Akaashi answers brightly, "neither of which are expired." Kei mirrors his smile.

"Are you looting candy for Bokuto-san?"

"No, these are for Kozume," Akaashi tells him. "I'm getting Bokuto-san something else."

"Which is?"

"A surprise."

The setter smiles at him before he spins on his heel and slips out the store. Akaashi pauses by the doorway, ducking his head back in to peer at Kei who remained rooted by the shelves.

"Follow me," Akaashi says and promptly leads the way.

.

"What is this, Akaashi-san?"

"A detour."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see," Akaashi hums without looking back. Kei trails after him, taking in the sight of beige pillars and brick walls and foreign shop names that lined the street. They've reached the high-end district, Kei presumes, and the overturned Lexus at the corner of the sidewalk with the rotting corpse of an undead inside of it is enough to confirm his suspicions and tell him just as much.

"There's nothing for us to get here," Kei warns as the setter slips inside an abandoned Isetan. He follows after him.

"No, there is," Akaashi insists as they make their way through the empty department store. The gunman leads the way with his hand trained on his pistol, but he brushes Kei's worries aside when he assures the younger boy that the infected count here was significantly low. "I've been looking around for two weeks now, you know," Akaashi shares in an almost-eager whisper, keeping his voice down as an extra precaution, "but I think this time, I've finally found the perfect one."

"Two weeks?" Kei's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and suddenly everything in his head is starting to come together. Was this why Akaashi had been so adamant on volunteering to go out for every patrol?

Akaashi spots his expression easily; answers his question the way he reads Bokuto like an open book. He turns to his side and sends back an equally meaningful stare that tells Kei _oh don't look at me like that. _

"So, Akaashi-san, is the jewelry section up or down?" Kei asks, lips curled upwards in a knowing smirk.

"Neither," Akaashi sighs, disappointed with the fact that Kei had already caught on. "It's on the same floor as we are in now. Once we turn the corner, you'll find the stall on the opposite end."

"And you're sure you already know what you want?"

"Yes, I just couldn't get it last time because I w–"

Akaashi forces Kei to duck down before he can even breathe out another word.

"What the hell, Aka–_ffmph!_"

"Shh," Akaashi urges, clamping a hand over Kei's mouth to muffle his speech. They're crouched down behind a shelf of leather belts, and Kei stills when he notices the faint sounds of groans can be heard from the other end of the hall. Akaashi's voice drops to a more authoritative tone. "There's five of them out in the back, next to the stall where I hid the ring. Are you up for some target practice?"

"I don't have much of a choice now, do I?" Kei answers with a faint smile, though his pulse races with nervous energy. "What do you need me to do?"

"Aim for the two on the left then cover for me if any of their friends start coming. I'll take down the other three on the right. Once I grab the rings, we run the hell out of here," Akaashi pauses, biting his lip. He sneaks a glance out from the side to reassess the situation. "I don't trust that door."

"Which means…?"

"We'll go back out the same way we came in. The side entrance by the cigars."

"Got it."

"And Tsuki–"

"Yes?"

"Don't look back."

Kei manages a nod the moment Akaashi whips out his pistol, shooting an undead straight in the eye. Kei quickly moves to position, taking down his assigned targets before shifting slightly to guard against any new arrivals. Akaashi runs for the stall and fires off two bullets with clear precision, and Kei feels his skin crawl when the marksman turns back to shoot another one in his direction.

Behind him, an undead body lands with a soft thud against the mall tiles.

Fuck, he almost didn't notice.

Kei doesn't allow himself to wallow in his regret for a second longer. Instead, he trains himself to focus back onto the task at hand; to serve as the lookout for Akaashi while his senior busies himself bent over and rummaging through the boxes on display. There aren't any new ones coming, but with that close call he'd just had, Kei can't help but feel his senses run on high alert. He scans the rest of the store.

He spots one of their earlier targets writhing on the ground, its hand reaching out towards Akaashi foot in its final moments. Kei shoots it down twice for good measure. This infected was a resilient one it seems.

"Found it!" Akaashi announces in that instant, pocketing his haul before he turned to spare a quick glance towards Kei. The sound of his voice is a little too loud for their liking, and the look of dread on Akaashi's face coupled with the telltale noise of dragging feet that Kei has picked up from the other side of the mall's main entrance tells him the very same.

_Sorry, _Akaashi says to him without words. Kei reads the apology well enough in his eyes.

Without a second to lose, they start running.

.

"This," Kei remarks when they make it outside the building, petulant and stiff though in between panting breaths, "better be worth it."

"Of course it is," Akaashi wheezes with his hands on his knees, breaking into a small sweat. He wipes the droplets off his brow. "You got your target practice in the end, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I guess," Kei allows himself to squat on the floor in order to catch his breath. Beside him, Akaashi leans against the brick wall with his hands in his pockets – he already looks like he's recovered.

"We should head back soon."

"Just give me a minute."

Kei closes his eyes and inhales deeply. When he opens them again, he sees Akaashi's outstretched hand holding on to a velvet blue box.

"Hold on to these for me," he says.

"What?" Kei's brow shoots up in equal parts confusion and surprise, though he takes the proffered box anyway. "Why me?"

"If I keep them on my person, Bokuto-san is bound to find them," Akaashi explains with a shrug. "I'll give it to him when the time is right. I want my proposal to be perfect."

"Need I remind you that the two of you are already married now thanks to Kuroo-san?" Kei quips in response, ever the smartass.

"Details, details," Akaashi shoos his comment away with a lazy wave of his hand. "Don't ruin it."

"Fine."

He turns to Kei sternly. "Don't tell him about this either."

"Of course I won't," Kei swears. "What do you take me for? I'll take this secret with me to the grave, Akaashi-san. Bokuto-san won't know about this until the time comes for you to want him to."

"Good."

"But…"

"But?"

"May I look?"

Akaashi shrugs as if to say _suit yourself. _Kei takes it as his cue to open the box.

Inside are a pair of matching two-tone rings. Kei picks one out and holds it against the sunlight, looking closer to inspect its design. It was neither simple nor plain, nor was it something obnoxiously ornate. The silver band was lined with a tilted golden hoop, wrapped around the surface like a ribbon coiled on the ring. The perfect balance between masculinity and elegance.

"It's titanium steel," Akaashi speaks up next to him. "Titanium is stronger than gold, and given that the world is what it is now, I opted to pick him something more durable. It'd be a waste if my gift would reach him looking all scratched up."

"It looks good, Akaashi-san."

"Of course it does," his upperclassman answers proudly. "I picked it because of its appearance at first. It reminds me a lot of him."

"Ah yes, two-tone metals just like Bokuto-san's two-toned hair."

"That's one way to look at it, I admit," the setter lets out a small laugh. He shakes his head. "I chose it for its colors. The way it's lined with gold. You see? It brings out his eyes."

"You must really love Bokuto-san, don't you?"

"Well, as you did remind me…" Akaashi replies before he gestures vaguely to the abandoned department store behind them. Kei can't help but notice the way his upperclassman holds back a shy smile. "Thank you, by the way."

"For reminding you that you two are already married?" Kei asks, "I think you should thank Kuroo-san instead."

"Not that," Akaashi clarifies. "I mean, I did thank Kuroo-san as well. But what I meant to say was thank you for joining me today, Tsukishima. For helping me out. For agreeing to all this."

"Oh," Kei answers dumbly. "Of course, Akaashi-san. You're welcome. And thanks, too, for covering for me earlier."

"Anytime," Akaashi smiles back at him warmly. "We're a team now after all."


	8. a testimony of summer nights

my heart is still not over 392. pls accept more bokuaka in my attempt to cope.

* * *

"Do you think this place is haunted?" Bokuto asks as they're standing in the corridor of an abandoned hospital at night. There's the stench of rot that lingers in the hallway; the faint odor of antiseptic mixing in with the foul smells of decay in between. The rain outside has turned the air stale and cloying, the atmosphere dripping thick with traces of blood and death and disease.

"Really, Bokuto?" Kuroo hisses as he hoists a feverish Kenma up more steadily on his back. The boy is swaddled in three layers of jackets to ward away the cold. "We're in the middle of a zombie apocalypse and that's what you're afraid of?" Kuroo asks, tone laden with sheer disbelief, "_Ghosts?_"

Almost as if on cue, they hear a sound from the other side of the building – a faint scuffing of feet and the loud crash of breaking glass. Kei startles at the noise and their shadows dance across the walls as the flashlight nearly slips from his hands.

"'the fuck was that?" Kuroo curses.

"It's the ghosts!" Bokuto cries out with palpable fear, "See, I told you so! What if you made them angry, Kuroo? This is all your fault!"

"Me? Why me?"

"You disrespected 'em! Now the spirits are out to get us. Maybe they're the ghosts of the dead patients from the past! Or the killer nurses! Holy shit, bro, what if–"

"_Hush now,_ the both of you," Akaashi commands sternly as he readjusts Kei's position to focus the light back onto the door lock he's been trying to pick open. "Bokuto-san, there's no such thing as ghosts."

"I don't know, pretty boy, that's what you said about zombies during Halloween last year, but look where that brought us now–"

"Kuroo-san, be quiet," Akaashi shushes the middle blocker.

"Oh come on, Akaashi, you gotta admit you were wrong this time. Let me have this," Kuroo counters, "I'm beggin' ya."

"Then beg."

"But you gotta say it! I'll shut up once you say 'You're right, Kuroo-san' and 'I was wrong, Kuroo-san.'"

"Beggars can't be choosers, Kuroo-san," the setter quips as he jams the tension wrench inside the keyhole. "Now please shut up and let me concentrate."

"Fine," Kuroo relents as Kenma stifles a cough behind him.

"But what do we do about the ghosts? I don't want them to curse us," Bokuto says in a forced half-whisper, his low voice almost overpowered by the heavy sound of rain.

"It could just be another one of the infected," Akaashi explains as he remains hunched over the door. "Or another survivor trying to break in." The setter twists the paperclip in the lock and rakes it upward against the pins, turning the tip as one does with a key. "In either case, we need to lay low."

"Okay then, you just keep working on that, 'Kaashi," Bokuto says in an attempt of faux bravery, "I'll go check it out."

Bokuto wanders towards the end of the hallway, movements slow and silent so as not to call attention to his presence. There are heavy footfalls coming from the opposite end, and the team waits with bated breath as Bokuto moves closer to the darkness. He keeps his gun out, positioned, careful and ready just in case.

A human figure comes into view, moving unsteadily as it drags its own feet. Kei shines the light towards its direction, and Bokuto makes out a set of familiar features as the creature slowly steps out of the darkness.

"Tsukishima," Akaashi mutters, fumbling, engrossed with the task at hand, "the light, please–"

"...Komi?" Bokuto calls out, and the name catches Akaashi by surprise.

The ace steps forward, lowering his rifle as he meets the other boy's gaze. He approaches the libero with a smile on his face, voice buzzing with eager excitement.

"Holy shit, it really is you," Bokuto mutters to himself in awe. "You're alive, Komi-yan!" he exclaims, unable to contain himself. "Are you okay?" he continues to ask, all in a rush, "Are you with the team? Where are the others? Hey, Komi? Are you–"

A hand reaches out to grab Bokuto just as quickly as Komi lunges forward to attack him. Akaashi swipes his ace away from the undead boy and shoots the libero down before he can bite with a quick bullet to his head, and the three of them fall to the ground in a mess of blood and sweat.

"Bokuto-san," Akaashi pants, arm still wrapped protectively around the other's torso, "did he get you?"

Bokuto squirms and slowly tries to pull away, "Relax, Akaashi, I–"

"_Koutarou,_" Akaashi repeats, sternly, and he presses the barrel of his gun against the other boy's left temple. His voice turns cold. Unfeeling. "I will repeat my question once. Did. He. Get. You."

"N-No," Bokuto finally answers with a quick shake of his head, "I don't think so."

Akaashi drops his gun, fussing over his partner to inspect the other for wounds. He wipes away the splatter and checks himself for good measure, letting out a sigh of relief when he declares them both clear.

"I'll get back t–"

"Oh my god, Komi?!" a voice screeches and Bokuto raises his gun instinctively towards its direction.

"Who the hell shot Komi?" another voice shouts. Akaashi rests his hand firmly against Bokuto's rifle in warning.

"I did," Akaashi declares, turning to face the two of them in greeting. A flash of lightning bolts through the sky, illuminating the room for a split second with a brightness that likens the day. In the moment, Kei catches a mixture of emotions dawning on the pair's faces – shock, recognition, confusion, and perhaps even, just the slightest bit of rage. "Konoha-san, Shirofuku-san."

.

"We're okay," Yukie tells them once they've settled inside the medical supply room. Kuroo and Konoha have busied themselves with sifting through the stock, while the remaining four tended to Kenma by propping him up on the floor against their bags.

"We?" Akaashi tilts his head, confused.

"The team," she clarifies with a smile. "Everyone's alive, Akaashi," she pauses, wryly, " well, everyone except–"

"He was infected," Bokuto pipes up, joining in, "sorry."

"Don't be," Shirofuku shakes her head. "It's our fault we didn't realize sooner. Konoha and I were trying to loot medicine since Komi said he was feeling pretty sick this morning," she explains as she helps them hook Kenma up to an IV. "We just didn't think that meant he was turning all along."

"You couldn't have known, Yukippi," Bokuto tells her in a brief attempt of comfort. "He was bitten in the leg, so–"

A cough interrupts them, and Akaashi directs his attention away from the conversation before him to address the sick blond.

"I don't like the sound of that cough, Kozume," he remarks.

"Neither do I," their manager agrees. "It could be bronchitis," Shirofuku says as she makes a move to stand. "I'll get you something for that."

Kei takes to monitoring the IV drip as Shirofuku leaves them alone to head towards the shelves. Akaashi fusses over their patient while Bokuto kneels beside him, unsure of what else to do with his hands. Outside, Kei hears the distant rumbling of thunder.

"You knew?" Akaashi asks, voice low, speaking up once she's out of earshot.

"He had a limp, Keiji," Bokuto rambles, "it wasn't exactly hard to miss–"

"So you knew," he repeats flatly, forcing his gaze onto his and Kuroo's jackets laid over Kenma like a makeshift blanket as he tucks him in. Akaashi doesn't bother to look Bokuto in the eye. His tone is void of emotion.

Bokuto nods. "Y-Yes."

"And you didn't shoot him right away."

"Yes."

Akaashi purses his lips, mouth pressed into a tight line. He rests his knuckles against Kenma's cheek, checking the boy's temperature with the back of his hand.

"Akaa–"

"Personal delivery service from Konoha Pharmacy!" Konoha interrupts brightly, announcing his arrival as he dumps a hefty pack of fever reducers, expectorants, and a blister pack of antibiotics onto a pile by their feet. "Yukie told me you needed some stuff so I picked these out for you."

"The storm's died down," the girl notes as she peeks outside the window. "Konoha," she calls out to her companion, "we need to get back to base before the others start looking for us."

"Got it!" Konoha replies before he whips his head back towards their direction. "Want us to take you guys in?"

"No thank you, Konoha-san. We set up our own base a few blocks from here," Akaashi offers him a small smile. "We can manage on our own."

"You sure?"

"Yes, we'll just wait for Kozume's drip to finish before we take our leave as well."

"Alright," Konoha says, albeit still slightly reluctant. "I hope your friend gets well soon, then. You stay safe now, you hear?"

"You too!" Bokuto replies, sending them off with a wave.

Akaashi nods his head in place of a bow. "I hope the rest of you will stay well."

Kei watches them go. Kuroo exchanges fist bumps with Konoha while Shirofuku casts a brief backwards glance to bid the rest of their team goodbye. Bokuto stays behind Akaashi, whose smiling facade drops almost instantly as soon as they part ways.

"Keiji," Bokuto begins, pulling Akaashi aside to talk to him in private. "I'm sorry–"

"Not here, Bokuto-san," Akaashi bites out, voice cold, stepping away from the older boy in an attempt to rein his temper in. "Not now," he says, more softly this time, holding back an outburst, and he mumbles an excuse to go accompany Kuroo instead. "We'll talk about this at home."

.

Later, as they make their way back to the shelter; Akaashi takes the lead while the rest trail after his figure in silence.

It's somewhat unfortunate – or perhaps not – that they haven't encountered any more of the infected roaming about on the streets tonight. Right now, their raven-haired marksman looks like he could easily annihilate a sizable horde of fifty zombies in a wrathful rampage all on his own.

"_Ridiculous_," Akaashi mutters softly under his breath, but the team hears it well in the bite in his tone, the sharpness of his tongue, the seething rage. Even Kuroo had seen the way Akaashi's eyes burned livid and promptly shut himself up; he knew better than to speak now and risk provoking the armed setter with his senseless chatter.

By the time they reach home, Kei is pretty impressed. He can't help but commend the setter's admirable sense of self-control – the way Akaashi had reined in his temper well enough to set his weapons down gently beside their belongings as he slips away into the next room.

Kuroo and Kenma exchange knowing glances. Bokuto strides forward from where he'd lagged behind, readily following suit as he pursued Akaashi in their shared bedroom and let the door shut closed behind them.

.

"Don't you ever do that again!" Akaashi snaps, voice loud and booming, eyes thick with an untempered anger. He points an accusatory finger straight towards the other's way. "You stupid, reckless idiot!"

"Keiji," he placates, "I'm sorry. You know, I–"

"Nine weeks," Akaashi mutters, and the words stop Bokuto in his tracks.

"It's been nine weeks now since the disaster," Akaashi interrupts, gunmetal blue eyes piercing his ace with a sharp and heated gaze. "Nine weeks since the day I was forced to pick up a gun and train myself to use it without flinching. Nine weeks that I've gone for nights straight without sleep, that I've worked my ass off running myself ragged in this horde-infested city. Nine weeks that I've killed, scavenged, and fought _so fucking hard _to keep you alive."

Bokuto stands without recoil, and his setter seizes the moment as his opportunity to continue.

"I took every measure possible. Whatever the cost, whatever it takes – I tried everything I could just to protect you. Did you know? I was scared too, Koutarou. Horrified by the thought that I was transforming into some ruthless monster. I've murdered children, shot them in cold blood, blasted heads off their small bodies without so much as an ounce of hesitation," Akaashi recounts, like a dam has broken loose and all his feelings are ready to flow right out of him. His tone is more scathing than it is shrill, and his sharp eyes turn even more narrowed. "But not once do I regret my decisions."

Akaashi drops his gaze; his head hanging low as his shoulders tremble under the heavy weight of his emotions. Bokuto makes his way to him, ready to offer a brief attempt of comfort.

"Don't you dare," Akaashi shouts at him once, punching Bokuto weakly. His hands are balled into angry, shaky fists that he pounds against the other's chest. "Don't you fucking dare, Koutarou–"

Bokuto pays his words no mind, instead wrapping his arms around Akaashi and nuzzling his face into his hair. "You're not a monster," he murmurs, his strong hold around the other's frame anchoring them to the ground. "You're my Keiji," Bokuto says, and his voice breaks past the wall built around the other's heart, "and I'm sorry I made you go through all that to protect me."

"Don't be sorry," Akaashi tells him at last. "The only thought I'd let run in my head whenever we dealt with the infected was the reminder that we were now against the world. And whenever i'd ask that of myself, questioning my decisions between defending us or them, my answer was always the same," in this moment, Akaashi's voice softens, almost indulgent, as he lets his tone fall burdened by the sheer honesty of his own words, "I would choose you each and every time."

The feelings ebb for a brief moment, a minute refuge for the gunsman to school his face back into an authoritative expression.

"But it scares me that I don't know if I can protect you all the time. What if I was too slow earlier? What if I had missed? If Komi was quicker, then I–"

"Shh," Bokuto shushes him, "it's okay, Keiji. He didn't get me. I'm here. I'm fine. I'm not going anywhere–"

"No. Listen to me, Koutarou," Akaashi reminds sternly, tone stringent like a warning. "You absolutely _must_ shoot whenever you chance upon an infected. Do whatever it takes to protect yourself first, or how else can you expect to be capable of looking out for Kuroo-san and all the others? Your safety is the utmost important thing."

Bokuto pulls him in closer.

"Do you understand?" the setter is quick to ask, when Bokuto tilts his chin up without warning and finally meets his gaze. "You have to stay alive, no matter what," Akaashi's breath hitches once and his lips are quivering slightly. He bites his bottom lip down with his worries and steels himself to continue, to get the words across. "No matter who."

With a gentle hand, Bokuto reaches up and cups his cheek, Akaashi's fair skin is now flushed hot from emotion. The older boy leans in close, their foreheads bumping together as Bokuto erases the distance of the space that lay between them. Akaashi closes his eyes and rests his head against him without a word, like a comfort familiar and easy, and simply lets him in.

"Promise me," the younger boy demands after he finally pulls away. "You have to promise me, Koutarou," Akaashi says as he wills himself to speak, blinking away the wetness in his eyes, desperate to ignore the wobble of his lips in an attempt to sound more firm. "_Please_."

Akaashi kisses him once, softly, vulnerably – emotions slipping through the veneer of his crumbling mask and revealing themselves in ways that demand their existences to be felt. Soft lips conversing through hushed whispers of affection, speaking of a love that is both reckless yet fearful in the face of their world and its tremendous possibilities.

They spare another moment to part for breath, and there are tears in his eyes when Akaashi tells him at last, "You're all that I have left. I can't afford to lose you too."

Bokuto echoes the sentiment, arms wrapped protectively around the smaller boy's waist like a sworn oath of affirmation. "Okay," he whispers to Akaashi, voice uncharacteristically small but also overwhelmingly earnest, "Okay, I promise."

They hold each other close for the rest of the night, curled up in each other's arms with just the slightest touches of moonlight grazing their skin, tracing paths of water in tear-stains that remain glistening on their cheeks.


	9. a moment's surrender

im so sorry. would you believe me if i told you i loved him?

* * *

Kei is plagued with insomnia yet again as he sits by the entryway one morning and decides to take an early watch. It's been a while since he'd stayed up to stand guard now. They'd stopped taking watch since the night he and Kuroo took down the infected residents they found in this shelter. Instead, they'd boarded up all the windows and super-sealed the doors tightly enough as a safety measure to ensure that everyone would get enough sleep. Besides, he and Akaashi were light enough sleepers to let them know if they were in any real danger anyway.

Speaking of the devil, Kei thinks to himself, as he picks up on the sound of a hasty shuffle of footsteps and finds Akaashi with a gun in his hand and ready to head out. The raven-haired setter notices Kei in his attempt to speedrun out of their unit and tilts his head to offer a plastered-on smile.

"Another sleepless night?"

Kei shrugs. "Something like that."

"Sorry I can't stick around for a chat this time, I'm just going out for patrol," Akaashi says almost guiltily. "Got any special requests you want me to bring back?"

Kei cocks an eyebrow. _So early? _he wonders. It's only a quarter to six in the morning, the sun is just about to rise.

"The sooner I get started on this patrol, the sooner I can finish it and get back to sorting out other responsibilities I have for the rest of the day," Akaashi tells him, ever perceptive, almost as though he were reading his thoughts.

"Where's your partner?"

"Kouta––Bokuto-san won't be joining me today. I'm going by myself."

"Are you still mad, Akaashi-san?" Kei asks, watching as his senior finishes putting on the last of his gear. "I know you just fought with Bokuto-san last night but I don't think that exempts you from the house rules."

The house rules in particular referred to Kuroo's buddy system that patrols always had to be done in groups of two or more. Akaashi would know this – he crafted the policy together with their captain after all.

"It's fine. I can manage," Akaashi tells him as he moves towards the door. Kei decides there's no getting around the setter's stubbornness this way.

"I'll go with you," he volunteers to tag along, "I can cover for you if you want. Just let me get my gear."

"No!" Akaashi turns him down with a firm shake of his head, adamant. His lips press into a tight line. "No need, I mean. You're right, I'm still angry," he says, "I...I need time by myself to think."

"Akaashi-san, I don't–"

"Good morning," a voice cuts in, as Kuroo steps into the hallway, eyes still groggy with sleep. Kenma trods slowly behind him with breakfast in his hands – a pack of saltine crackers they found during their last loot. His complexion looks a lot better than yesterday. Kuroo picks up on the tension hanging in the air. "What's up?" he asks, trying to make sense of the problem.

"I'm just going to do a quick patrol, Kuroo-san," Akaashi tells him with another forced smile. "Would you like me to pick up any supplies?"

"Akaashi-san said he wants to go alone," Kei adds, choosing instead to rat out the raven-haired setter.

"What–"

Akaashi takes advantage of the lull in the air and attempts to make a break for it, but Kuroo is quick to reach an arm out and catch him in time. Hooded eyes glance down to where the captain has grabbed him by the wrist, gunmetal blue irises glinting dangerously, almost dark.

"Kindly let go of me, Kuroo-san," Akaashi warns, voice low. He struggles to keep it even.

"Not until you stop acting like a reckless idiot and pull yourself together," Kuroo tells him off, scolding. "You know the rules, pretty boy; we can't let you go out there alone. Now it's either you let Tsukki come with, or you let me. Take your pick."

"I'm sorry, Kuroo-san, but I can't," the setter turns down the other's offer. "I have to do this one alone."

"Don't be stupid, Akaashi," Kuroo warns him, just as soon as Akaashi pulls the pistol to his temple and cocks it against his own head. Shock paints over Kuroo's face, but even then, the captain refuses to let the other boy go.

Kei wonders if Akaashi had just gone suicidal from the fact that he had shot a bullet right through the skull of his former teammate. It must be guilt, Kei understands. It's not easy to shake that kind of thing off from your conscience. Killing what was once human? It's a little rough to stomach, sure, but given their even rougher circumstances having to slash nameless corpses every waking moment of the day for the sake of survival, it becomes easier to forget that fact. You become numb. Desensitized. It gets easier with time.

But killing who was once a friend? That never gets easy.

"I have to go," Akaashi tells them, his strained voice breaking Kei's train of thought. "Now."

"Why are you in such a rush to ditch us?" Kuroo asks, and Akaashi is trapped, almost speechless. He breaks into a cold sweat; eyes as wide as saucers and his face as pale as death. Gone are his steeled gaze and narrow eyes. Akaashi – cool, calm, and collected Akaashi – looks like a deer trapped in the headlights.

"Kuroo-san, please."

And for the first time since they've been together throughout this outbreak, Akaashi looks afraid.

"I don't want to hurt you," Akaashi tells them, as he struggles to pull away, "I don't want to hurt you so please let me go, Kuroo-san, I–"

He is pleading; eyes wide. Sweating bullets. Blood drains from his face. Kei watches the way Akaashi pales further as he stands.

"I...I don't...I'm scared, Kuroo-san, so please, before I–"

"Turn," Kenma finishes for him, amber eye widening with realization as he raises his gaze.

Akaashi stops squirming in the other's grasp. Kuroo slackens his grip, albeit he still doesn't entirely let the younger boy go. The gun falls from Akaashi's shaky hand.

Then, in a quiet voice, Kenma calls out to his friend.

"Keiji," he asks, "you're infected, aren't you?"

Kenma's question is answered by silence, but that alone is a solemn confirmation.

Akaashi purses his lips tightly and pulls up his arm sleeve.

Nobody can move. Kuroo stands frozen, feet rooted helplessly to the ground, eyes dark and watery while Kenma sits eerily still, gaze as blank as the rest of his face. The moment feels fragile. Unbelievable. Surreal.

Lo and behold, it is there: a small gash in the crook of his right arm, just the tiniest of incisions.

Kei is the one who manages to speak first, breaking the spell, his voice hoarse with concern.

He asks, simply, "Since when, Akaashi-san?"

"I just found out this morning," Akaashi tells them. It must have been yesterday, just after he swiped Bokuto away and killed off their libero. He must have gotten scratched then when he reached out to grab him.

It's no wonder Akaashi didn't realize he had it the first time he had conducted a body check, or at the instance it had been inflicted, what with adrenaline pumping through his veins and his senses directed towards everything else in their surroundings, most especially when the target he had been trying to protect them from had been after Bokuto. You could hardly even see it, to be honest. But regardless of its size, the fact remains that it is there nonetheless, and the mottled pattern that spreads over his skin and has already nearly finished taking form serves as proof of that fact.

Kei knows that Akaashi knows that he couldn't let Bokuto know. It would kill him. Bokuto would feel guilty that he let Akaashi get hurt because of him. If he'd killed himself here, then Bokuto would find his corpse and quite possibly discover the scar, or, if not, then he'd think it was his fault that Akaashi felt bad about having to kill Komi to protect Bokuto – enough to stage his own suicide. Either way, they know that Bokuto would blame himself over Akaashi's death.

"There's no way I could tell the team and force you to shed my blood with your hands," Akaashi says to them then, "I couldn't ask that of you. I would never want to ask that of you. That would be too cruel."

_Which is why he has to do it himself, _Kei realizes bitterly. _But he also has to do it far away._

"So _please_," Akaashi begs, and there is fear in his eyes when he turns to look at Kuroo. Akaashi has never, not once, allowed himself to beg for anything to anyone – least of all to Kuroo of all people.

But this time, it's different.

There are tears threatening to form in his eyes and his lip is quivering dangerously now and Kei watches helplessly as Akaashi once again attempts to free himself from Kuroo's hold, the way he looks so small and fragile and terrified and just so _young_.

Kei is made to remember that Akaashi had always only ever been sixteen. That he was still just a teenager, a child forced into the role of some mature and calculating authority figure hardened by their world just to ensure his friends' survival. That they all were.

"_Kuroo-san_," Akaashi urges louder, his voice going shrill. "I don't have much time."

Kei takes in his words with a great sense of alarm. He sneaks a glance at the setter's arm and confirms that yes indeed, he's right – neither of them have much time left at this point. The bruise around Akaashi's wound is already beginning to turn blue. It's just a matter of minutes before he turns on them now. Perhaps an hour at best, if they're lucky.

They're not.

Kuroo finally lets Akaashi go, but by then it's too late. Kei at least has the presence of mind to snatch the gun from the floor when it happens. Akaashi's body falls slack underneath his own weight and he crumples to the ground. He's still conscious though, but that observation alone is far from reassuring.

Akaashi is fighting to keep himself awake. He raises his head and looks up at Kei.

"Tsukishima," Akaashi calls his name out steadily. His voice is back to normal again, no longer the shrieking panic that it once was earlier. His tone is strangely calm. "I'm sorry," the half-dead boy apologizes; his eyes are sad and tired. "You're going to have to shoot me, after all."

Kei nods and holds up the gun. He points it at his senior shakily. He has never done this before. He has never wanted to do this before.

"I…"

There's no way he can do this.

"I can't."

Akaashi offers him a tired smile. He speaks to him guiltily, his tone thick with remorse. "You have to."

"I'm sorry, Akaashi-san, I–"

"Tsuki...shima," Akaashi presses on, more sternly this time. His legs are folded in awkward angles, almost bonelessly, like an old rag doll half-heartedly stitched together. There's the sound of his labored breathing and Kei hears it in between every syllable of his name: rapid, wheezing puffs of air coming out of Akaashi's mouth in desperate, struggling gasps. "I need...you to... shoot me... now."

The blond nods his head again, more fiercely this time, and rolls his shoulders back in position to keep the gun trained on Akaashi's face. Kei's palms are damp with sweat and the coolness of the metal feels like searing heat between his fingers. Tears are building at the corners of his eyes.

"_Shoot_," Akaashi barks out the order, with whatever morsel of energy the human side of him has left. Kei closes his eyes and forces them shut. His hands are shaking; his grip wavers. He holds in a breath.

He takes aim.

The crack of a bullet rips through the air. Akaashi's skull cracks open from the force of its impact, body plummeting to the ground with a soft thud, a hollow sound that echoes almost deafeningly in the haunting stillness of the room.

But Kei hadn't yet pulled the trigger.

The blond lowers his arms and cracks open his eyes. He finds Bokuto standing behind them from the other end of the hall, hands wrapped around his raised rifle, unmoving; gunpowder scattering from the barrel in faint wisps of smoke that travel through the air.

The gun falls from Bokuto's hands, a harsh clunk that crashes against their eardrums as the firearm makes contact with the ground. Kei startles. Kenma remains impossibly still. Bokuto rushes over to their side of the room. Kuroo holds him by the shoulders and steadies his best friend, promptly pulling him back before the larger-built man did something so stupid such as to kiss his lover's corpse and risk infection himself.

He doesn't though, much to everyone's surprise. Bokuto does little else but hold Akaashi's lifeless body in his arms, his golden eyes wistful and weighing heavy with longing. Gently he slides Akaashi's eyelids closed as he smiles at the sleeping form of his lover.

_See Keiji, _Bokuto murmurs in a voice unspeakably fond; barely above a whisper but just loud enough for the whole room to hear, _I promised._

It's an intimate moment. So much, to the point that Kei almost feels like he's intruding. Kei ducks his head and lowers his gaze.

There's an open dent in Akaashi's head now, blood pooling on the floor mixed in with debris of what is most probably his brain matter. They're going to have to bury the body – soon, before it rots. Burning would leave a stench and attract the rest of the undead to where they are now. Not to mention create a smoke trail, a beaming beacon for all of Japan to see.

Kei bites down hard on his bottom lip and chokes back a sob.


	10. the corpse you buried in your garden

just a little heads up, but i'll be away from the fic scene for the next 2-3 weeks bc i'll be taking exams by then. (wish me luck!) please enjoy this chapter in the meantime :)

* * *

Bokuto is focused when he fires the gun after hearing that Akaashi had gotten scratched; calm in the moment that Akaashi dies by his hands. It was unnerving, to say the least, but a welcome development nevertheless.

He's shock-still when Akaashi is pulled out of his grasp after lunch, Kenma wrapping his arms protectively around the larger man's back as Kei works with Kuroo to heave the older setter's mangled corpse out of the apartment. They bury him in a shallow pit they dug together that morning and layer him over with soil like a cage for his bones, stacking grey slate rocks over the mound in a show of respect. At Bokuto's suggestion, they cap it off at five, just like the number Akaashi used to wear on his jersey.

Kei is sad. Guilty. Hurting. Heck, they all are. But nobody is quite as far gone, quite as hit by the impact – quite as broken by the remorse of Akaashi's death, as Bokuto is.

Bokuto breaks down at nightfall, when the bed is empty and the space is cold beside him and he comes to terms with the fact that Akaashi is truly gone. Bokuto cries, a raw cacophony of tears that are loud and shameless and honest, and he begs to the deities to give him his setter back. _Keiji, _he would call over and over in a hoarse voice, throat parched dry from emotion, _Keiji, Keiji, Keiji._

It makes it impossible for any of them to sleep.

In the living room, Kenma curls into himself in an attempt to block out the noise. Kuroo mumbles something like a quick apology to Kei under his breath, leaving their shared space to bunk with the wing spiker in one of the bedrooms. Kei turns over to his side and gives up on resuming another attempt at slumber.

He watches Kuroo hold Bokuto again like a fragile thing, consoling his best friend with murmurs of sweet nothings and _I know_'s to hushen his wails. Bokuto cries in Kuroo's arms that night, tears thick and unending as they soak the fabric of the rooster-haired boy's worn-out shirt.

Kei flinches when he feels a small warmth suddenly beside him. It's Kenma this time.

Kei understands just how shaken Kenma had been by Akaashi's revelation, by the scenario of Akaashi's death. He'd try to console the setter the same way Kuroo had done too, but Kei has never been much of a man of comforting words. Instead, he holds out a hand.

Almost instantly, Kenma takes it.

They soak in the warmth of each other's palms just like that, comforted by the reminder of another human's presence. The thought makes Kei's mind slip almost easily into the calming lull of sleep. He gives in and closes his eyes, fingers intertwined tightly with the other as though holding on to a promise that they'd make through until tomorrow.

.

There's a car in the garage – a pearl white Mazda 2 hatchback whose model was probably already a year old. Dust has settled over its windows, specks of dirty grey and imprints of cat paws littering over the hood.

"I found it out back when we were looking for shovels yesterday," Kuroo tells them as they step back inside their unit for breakfast. "I think it still works."

"You think?"

"I haven't checked for sure," Kuroo shrugs, "but I can take it out for a test drive tomorrow."

"Then let's leave tomorrow," Kenma says as he forces open a sachet and splits a pack of kit-kat bars to be rationed out among them, "if it does work. I think it's about time for us to go, anyway."

"Yeah," Kei agrees, sparing a glance towards Bokuto, who has opted to skip breakfast and is instead staring listlessly at the empty space on the bed beside him. "We could use a change of scenery."

.

Luckily enough, the car turns out to be in running condition. They spend the morning of the next day packing their essentials into the vehicle – a handful of blankets, two pillows, food, water, weapons, and each of their personal bags. Kuroo tosses an extra bag into the trunk and Kei shoots him a wary look of equal parts suspicion and mild disapproval. Space was a luxury given their sizes – the car was cramped enough as it is, plus the fact it would soon contain four teenage boys who had long gotten over each of their respective growth spurts wasn't helping any.

They bide their time by the children's park before they go, each of them paying their respects as they mumble a prayer over Akaashi's grave. Kuroo steps away first, followed by Kenma, then Kei, and at last, Bokuto.

Kuroo takes over the wheel with Kenma riding shotgun as he plops down on the passenger seat beside him. Kei settles for the back with Bokuto and they stay quiet as their captain-now-slash-designated driver starts the engine and pulls down the handbrake.

"Bro-adtrip," Kuroo says with a grin as he glances at them through the rearview mirror. Bokuto offers him a small smile in response.

People had always teased Bokuto for being such a big baby. That he's irresponsible, that he whines a lot and gets way too excited over the simplest and smallest of things, and just a little bit too clingy. He cries too much, shouts too much, cares too much – loves too much. But the truth of it is that Bokuto is so much more than all of those things – he's a genuinely nice person, a boy with a big and bright and overly honest smile, a man who wears his heart on his sleeve like a badge of honor pinned proudly on his chest.

But the smile he wears now is hollow at best – an empty gesture that doesn't quite reach his eyes; a pale imitation of what his expressions once used to be. Looking at Bokuto now, Kei thinks, is like watching a star collapse in on itself, restlessly waiting as the seconds tick on until it burns itself inevitably into oblivion.

"Bye-bye, Keiji," he hears Bokuto whisper softly. Kei watches the apartment complex shrink off further into the distance as the car continues to speed away. Bokuto closes his eyes by the time they're out the front gate; Kei takes a minute to look at the stones stacked atop Akaashi's grave for the last time, once more and then never again.

.

It's a quiet ride for the most part. Kuroo has rolled down their windows in order to skimp on the AC and save on gas consumption while Kenma refuses to play anything on the radio for fear of the noise attracting any of the undead.

"If you want music, then sing," Kenma snaps when Kuroo first reaches for the knob to turn it on. "I'm not wasting our car battery on a glorified Pavlov bell for the infected."

"And you don't think that my voice would be an even bigger indicator that their favorite living human snacks are here in this specific location? Hello, earth to Kenma? What happened to Nekoma's brain?"

"I've heard your singing, Kuro," Kenma retorts, grumbling, "I'm pretty sure it could help us ward them further away."

"Did you hear that, Tsukki?" Kuroo calls out to Kei sitting in the backseat. "Lawyer for me! I refuse to take this slander."

"Whereas this court has found defendant to be guilty beyond reasonable doubt–"

"Tsukki, you traitor!"

Bokuto stirs from the noise, blinking himself awake next to Kei. He'd dozed off midway through the ride, but his nap seems to have been far from restful. The dark circles under his eyes haven't changed in the slightest.

"Do you want to talk about it...Bokuto-san?" Kei asks him suddenly, in a voice so low he wonders if Bokuto could even hear it.

But then Bokuto turns his head to face Kei's way, and it is enough for Kei to take it as his cue to continue.

"I, uhm, heard from Akaashi-san that when he had trouble sleeping, you would make him talk about his problems to get over them," Kei explains, dropping his gaze as he pretends to fumble with his glasses. He tugs on the taut string to raise the tension on its bridge. "I was wondering if that, maybe, you would need someone to listen to you talk too, since...well, uh...I mean... if it would help–"

Bokuto stares at Kei wordlessly, face softening with patient recognition.

"I'll be okay, Tsukki," he tells him after a long while, "I just miss him, you know?"

Kei says nothing to this, nodding instead with quiet understanding. When Bokuto averts his gaze outside towards the street, Kei calls his attention back as he pulls out a velvet box from his pocket.

"Please take this, Bokuto-san," he says, holding out the gift in the palm of his hand. "It's for you, from Akaashi-san."

"Tsukki, what are y–"

"Do you remember when Akaashi-san and I went out on patrol together a few weeks back? When he kept on volunteering to take on all those supply run shifts straight for what seemed to be no reason?" Kei asks him softly. "This was the reason. We took a detour to get this for you," he explains, as Bokuto tilts his head and takes the box off of his hands."It was supposed to be a secret, because Akaashi-san wanted to wait until the timing was right so he could make his proposal to you perfect, but, uh, I figured…"

Kei pauses, taking in a shaky breath as he watches Bokuto open the box curiously.

There's a single ring left inside, titanium steel tinged with silver and a tilted band of gold wrapped around its sides. Bokuto takes it out and holds it against the light, and Kei can't help but notice just how right Akaashi had been before about the way the ring best brought out the colors in the older boy's eyes.

"Akaashi-san has the other one," Kei says, "to match. I, uhm, had him wear it when we buried him."

Bokuto's expression flickers slightly, a wan smile slowly painting itself over his features as he slips the ring on his finger.

It fits him perfectly.


	11. dry bones can harm no one

thank you for waiting! as promised, here's the new chapter :) happy (?) reading! hehe

* * *

Kuroo takes them out to play volleyball in an attempt to cheer Bokuto up. They've stopped at a park located on the other side of the city, pulling out equipment from the bag Kei had eyed suspiciously before. The group plays three rounds of 2-on-2, with Kuroo partnering up with Bokuto and Kenma setting for Kei. They put up a fair fight, but in the end, the pair of third years win at a score of 2-1. Only when the sun begins to set and dusk gives way to the evening do the four of them decide to finally call it a day.

"Where did you even find these?" Kei asks Kuroo as they work together to take down their makeshift volleyball court. Kenma stays with Bokuto to help him cool down and stretch in the meantime.

"Kenma and I stole 'em from a Donki when we went out for patrol the other day," Kuroo admits, coming clean. He unties the net strings from around an aluminum pole and grins. "Nice surprise, isn't it?"

"Is that why you only fed us candy when you two got back?"

"I mean, there wasn't really anything else left for us to loot," Kuroo reasons with a shrug, "all the other food choices there had expired. And after that incident with the peanut butter and old cookies, I'd rather not take any chances."

"I see."

They finish packing up after that. Kuroo calls Bokuto and Kenma over while Kei deposits their things at the back of their car.

"Congrats, Bo," Kuroo says as he hands him the car keys to swap out with the wing spiker. "You played great."

"Hey, hey, hey, what can I say," Bokuto beams as he takes his turn at the wheel, sneaking a glance at his ring before he starts up the engine. "I've got the stars on my side."

.

Kei takes to watching the stars during the night, when the team camps out in the middle of an abandoned highway. They park the car at the side of the road as Bokuto reclines his seat to sleep at the wheel. Kenma has already dozed off at the passenger seat a couple kilometers ago; Kuroo sits next to Kei, awake, but joining him in silence as they both take in the view.

"So," Kuroo whispers, his low voice breaking the quiet, "how do you like stargazing?"

"It's nice," Kei admits, gaze not quite leaving the sky. Kuroo shifts beside him to look his way. "Relaxing."

"Right? I'm glad I could share it with you."

"Looking up at it now, I can almost pretend that everything was still normal," he continues. "That this whole thing never happened and the outbreak was all just one big dream."

"That would be really nice, wouldn't it."

"Yeah."

They bask in the silence for a little while longer. Then, a rustle of fabric. The faint sounds of movement.

"Hey, Tsukki?"

"Yes, Kuroo-san?"

"What would you have done if our world was still normal?"

Kei takes his time to ponder on the question, mouth curled into a small frown. "I don't know," he says at last, his temple leaning against the frame of the open window, "go to school, probably? Listen to music, visit a museum, eat shortcake–"

"You like museums?"

"Yeah?"

Kuroo hums, letting him continue.

"There was this museum across from my brother's university," Kei explains, "I'd drop by everytime we'd visit Tokyo if Nii-chan couldn't go home during the weekend."

"Oh?"

"It had two floors dedicated to paleontology exhibits. I remember they had this gigantic replica of a stegosaurus." He smiles. "It was really interesting."

"You really like dinosaurs, huh?"

"I guess?" Kei flushes at his words, ducking his head as his cheeks darken with warmth. He clears his throat to speak, turning away from the window to face the older boy, "What about you, Kuroo-san?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Who else could I be talking to?" Kei scoffs in faux exasperation. "What do you like? What are your hobbies?"

"Well, volleyball of course," Kuroo shrugs. "Sometimes I'd play video games with Kenma. I don't do much else besides that, I think, since I need to balance out my time for studies. I kinda enjoy studying, too, I guess," he laughs. "Consider me a nerd but, growing up, I always wanted to be a chemist."

"A chemist, huh," Kei wraps his head around the thought. "That's..."

"Boring, I know."

"Not at all," Kei shakes his head firmly. "When I was a kid, I used to dream about being a paleontologist. It's probably a lot more boring than what you would be doing conducting science experiments in a laboratory, but for me, I thought it was fascinating. I'd get so excited about the idea of digging up fossils and analyzing how they would connect us to the past…"

"Why do you say that, then?"

"Say what?"

"'Used to,'" Kuroo says as he lifts his hands up to bend his fingers like quotation marks in the air, "Is it not your dream anymore?"

"No, it's just–" Kei sighs, closing his eyes. "It's not possible in our world anymore, don't you think?"

"You never know, Tsukki," Kuroo tells him, his voice tinged with the faintest ghost of a smile. "I wouldn't give up all hope just yet."

.

They stumble across a temple the following morning. Kei furrows his brow as he focuses on reading the map, intent on making sense of their location in an unfamiliar area.

"Yoshi...mitsu...ji?"

"It's read 'Zenkoji,'" Kenma informs. "We're at Zenkoji."

"Oh? You know this place, Pudding-kun?"

"Yeah, Kuro–"

"We went here with the whole Nekoma team last year before Spring High," the boy in question explains. "The monks used to do a special prayer service in the mornings, so I had everyone round up bright and early to catch it in time." Kuroo's gaze softens at the memory. "It worked, I think. We made it to semis."

"Cool! I wanna check this place out then," Bokuto says as he parks their car right by the gate and steps out into the sunlight, arms reaching overhead like a dahlia flower unfurling into full bloom. "Time to lengthen our limbs, everyone!"

At the other's expression, Kuroo snorts into his hand. "You mean stretch our legs, bro."

"That too!" Bokuto laughs alongside him. "Come on."

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Kei asks wryly, grimacing as they walk past a _tsukubai_ that had turned grimy from disuse. Algae had already begun to form at the edge of the water basin, an apparent manifestation of the lack of maintenance throughout the temple grounds.

"Well, it seems pretty empty," Kuroo reasons before bowing his head solemnly in lieu of purifying himself as per the usual ritual, much to Kei's relief. The rest of them follow his lead. "What do you think, Kenma?"

"It might be a good place to set up base for the night," Kenma shrugs, "I'm pretty tired of sleeping in cramped quarters like the car."

"You said it!" Bokuto agrees with an eager glint in his eyes. He looks to be doing better now, and what kind of person would Kei be if he were to put a damper on the other's mood?

Kuroo nods and reminds them kindly, "Keep your weapons on you, just in case."

The temple looked almost decrepit, etiolated; devoid of life and antiquated in its absence. The paint on its walls is washed out, eroded by the weather, colors faded as though bleached by the alternating cycles of sun and rain. The team treks forward through the cobblestone path, footsteps silent and careful to avoid the fallen leaves that would crunch noisily underneath their weight_. _

They reach the _kondo. _Bokuto slides the _shoji _door open in earnest when an arrow darts quickly into Kei's field of sight. Kei feels a sudden weight knock the air out of his lungs, hears the sound of metal piercing skin. He stills; heart thumping rapidly in the tight cage of his chest. He shuts his eyes in fear and waits for the pain to take over.

Nothing happens.

A firm hand had shoved him out of its trajectory without a second thought, he realizes. When Kei turns around to offer his thanks to its owner, his heart stops instantly at the sight:

There, crumpled and bleeding on the floor, is Kuroo.


	12. the dust of unknown things

big thanks to mah homegurl E for proofing/researching/bobo-friendly-fying some med concepts for me when i wrote this chapter. ily besh

* * *

"Kuro!" Kenma calls out, his shrill voice laced with panic. Kuroo is on the ground with a hand gripping onto his ear, crimson dripping through the crevices in between his fingers. Kenma kneels next to him, hand hovering over his pained form and unsure of what to do.

"You're hurt," Bokuto remarks.

"No shit, Sherlock," the captain snaps.

"Sorry!"

"No, no, it's not your fault, Bo," Kuroo reins his emotions back, plastering on a feeble smile in an attempt to console the other's dampened spirits. "It's not like you set up that trap anyw–"

"But someone else did," Kei immediately blurts out. "Zenkoji is a base," he says, stunning the group into silence as the realization falls upon them. "There are survivors here."

"Survivors, huh," Kenma murmurs, breaking the quiet spell once the word finally sinks in. His brow furrows; face scrunching in deep thought as he processes the information and contemplates their next move. "We should–"

"Find them!" Bokuto finishes for him, giddy at the prospect of meeting other people who would, like them, also be living and well.

Kenma nods. "But Kuro–"

"Tsukki and I can go!" Bokuto volunteers; Kei doesn't object to it. "We can ask them to take us in for the night since I don't think they'd like it very much if they just find us sleeping over all of a sudden and using their stuff without permission and all."

"Yeah," Kei agrees in a clipped voice. "I doubt we'd be welcomed warmly that way."

"They'll probably greet us with another one of these in that case," Kenma supplies, yanking out the arrow and tossing it in the direction of the abandoned _tsukubai_. He rips off a segment of his shirt and holds the cloth against the other's ear, applying pressure as he does.

"You and Kuroo can just wait for us outside," Bokuto advises just as Kenma picks the older boy up off the ground and steadies him. He carries half the other's weight on his shoulder and gets ready to go. By the look on Kuroo's face, the pain is nearly debilitating.

"We'll wait by the gate," Kenma decides before his expression hardens and he warns them, wryly, "They might have set up more traps inside."

"Be careful out there," Kuroo says.

Kei makes a promise for them both, words as solemn as a vow, "We will."

.

Kenma props the injured boy up against the pillar, careful not to jostle his ear with the movements. He presses the cloth firmly against the wound. Kuroo winces. A sharp intake of breath.

"Sorry," he releases slightly, "Is this okay?"

"Mmgh," Kuroo grunts in assent, closing his eyes briefly to attempt rest. Kenma slaps him lightly on the cheek.

"Don't pass out on me now."

"M'not."

"Kuro," Kenma addresses him with worry. "Kuro, look at me."

"I'm looking, kitten," Kuroo mumbles tiredly, blinking himself back awake. He plasters on a crooked grin. "I always am."

Kenma nearly flushes from the sheer sincerity of his words. "Not like that, you stupid sap," he grumbles.

The sound of a sigh. "'kay then, I shall look away."

"I'm serious, Kuro."

"So am I, ki–_fuck,"_ Kuroo mutters under his breath, face twisting into a pained grimace. "Oh fuck." He grits his teeth. "My ear feels like it's on fire."

Kenma instructs him sternly. "Show me your ear," he says, forcing Kuroo to lift off the stained cloth. He scans the wound with his lone eye, keenly inspecting the now-inflamed organ. He pinches on the lobe. "Do you feel this?"

"Feel what?"

"Guess not," Kenma clicks his tongue, wiping Kuroo's blood off on the thigh of his pant leg. He shrugs off his jacket and balls up the cloth. He hands the bundle to Kuroo. "Does it feel numb? Tingly?"

"Ish...?" Kuroo looks at him puzzled. "I'm not feeling cold, though?"

"Scream into that," Kenma tells him flatly, before reaching for the back pocket of his trousers. His brows are knotted together. "I think the arrow was poisoned."

Kuroo looks at him with equal parts confusion and alarm. "What?"

"We need to get rid of the site before the poison spreads," his voice wavers. His hand shakes. Kenma bites down on his bottom lip; pulls himself together. "I have to cut it off or you could die."

"Oh."

Kuroo gulps and brings the jacket to his mouth. Kenma twirls around the push dagger in his hand to better adjust his grip. He raises it up and prepares to make an incision. The blade glints under the sunlight and Kuroo shuts his eyes against its glare. He braces for the impact.

Kenma pauses, a halt in his motions. The beat of his voice.

"Do you trust me?"

"Always," Kuroo answers him in a heartbeat, voice muffled against the fabric. "Now, make it quick."

.

In the main hall of the temple, Bokuto holds Kei to his chest, an arm wrapped protectively around the younger boy as they crouch ducked behind a pillar. Kei stares up at the dragon carved onto the ceiling; feels the racing of Bokuto's pulse against his, nerves laced with fear and trepidation.

There are six infected on the other side of the room, kneeling before the altar as though in prayer. A dead man lies in their center, his corpse lain before the statue of Buddha almost like a sacrifice. He is their feast; their offering.

And if they don't do anything else about their current predicament soon, he would also just be the appetizer to Kei and Bokuto's main course.

Kei tries hard not to think too much about that part.

"New plan, Tsukki," Bokuto whispers, their breaths muted but pressed close so as not to alert the undead of their presence. "We're not sleeping over."

"So I've gathered," Kei responds in deadpan. He busies himself instead by contemplating strategy. "Do we retreat, then? Before the dead guy turns on us?"

"Well the dead guy is new, but he might still have friends who aren't like him," Bokuto argues, "there might still be other survivors out there."

"And you want us to help them," Kei concludes, tone less like a question and more like a fact.

"Wouldn't you?" Bokuto asks him simply, eyes as bright as his heart of gold. Ever the hero.

_No, not really, no._

"Yeah, fine," Kei agrees beyond his better judgment. He holds back a sigh and moves away from Bokuto to peek out from behind the other side of the column. "See that door on the far left?"

Kei flicks off his safety.

"That's our finish line."

Promptly, he shoots.

"Take down as many as you can, Bokuto-san," Kei directs as the rest of the horde come after them, abandoning the corpse in favor of fresh blood. "I'll cover for you if you miss."

Kei takes down his targets swiftly, never wasting a single bullet; always aiming straight for the head. Another infected falls, his bullet landing cleanly between its eyes, the weight of its body bringing down a pot of burnt incense sticks nearby.

"Shit, Tsukki." Two more topple down as Bokuto whistles in between his kills, "Akaashi taught you pretty damn well, didn't he?"

"Of course," Kei says, finishing off the last of them without batting an eye. He is not a stranger to the scent of burning carcasses, the mounds of corpses' bodies and the looming death toll that rises in his wake. Bokuto fires at the new cadaver for good measure.

"Great!" Bokuto exclaims before coolly blowing off the steam from his barrel, "Then let's split up."

"What?" Kei looks back at Bokuto as if the man had just grown three heads. "Do you want to kill us both?"

"What? No, of course not! But it'll be faster. We'll cover more ground this way," Bokuto explains his proposal. "You handle that room, and I'll check the other side of the shrine. We can scout our areas for one round and assemble back at the car."

"But it's too dangerous–"

"I'm sorry, I know, but you can handle yourself out there, Tsukki! I know you can. You were trained by the best, after all," Bokuto cracks a small smile, before schooling his face back into its determined expression. "But there are people out there who might need us and I want to save as many of them as I can."

"Ten minutes," Kei announces, amending the other's proposal by way of compromise. "Regardless of whether we find anyone we can save or not, we leave the grounds in ten minutes."

"Got it," Bokuto accepts his offer with a brighter smile, hand raised in a false salute. "Meet you back at the car by then!"

Kei nods before heading towards his door. "See you in ten, Bokuto-san."

"Hey," Bokuto calls his attention. Kei stops in his tracks.

"What?"

"Akaashi really did teach you well, huh, Tsukki."

The younger boy feigns wiping the sweat off his brow to hide his face behind the crook of his arm. "Yes," Kei agrees, lips graced with the faintest wisp of a smile. "He really did."

.

"Kuro," Kenma calls out, pacing nervously, "it's been ten minutes."

"No, wait, not yet. Give him another five," Kuroo urges. "It's Bo. He'll make it."

"We don't even have the key," Kei comments from his seat on the ground, pistol empty and leaving him defenseless. The room he scoured back in the temple was empty, sans for three undead he found and locked away by barricading the entrance, and without any other means to protect himself – his spare magazine being tucked away at the trunk of the car – the blond had no other choice but to wait at their designated meeting point outside.

Kenma shrugs. "We can always run."

"It won't hurt to wait a little longer," Kuroo insists, hands gripping knuckle-white on the hood of the hatchback. Kenma listens.

Kei squints his eyes. "I think I see him."

Bokuto emerges at the foot of the _kodo_, white and grey hair stark against the dark browns of the temple columns. He seals off the door before hobbling over towards their direction, and the three boys rush over to his wounded figure to give him their aid. Kuroo and Kei scoop Bokuto up under his arms, shoulders bumping awkwardly as they try to head back to the car in haste. Kenma holds onto his rifle.

"There's no more survivors," Bokuto murmurs in between panting, labored breaths; each word sounding like a colossal effort in order for them to hear him speak. "Everyone's been turned."

"We figured," Kuroo says, struggling to pull Bokuto's weight up on his arms amidst his own pain. Beside him, Kei ignores the sore ache in his muscles; pushes down on the fatigue that's settled in his bones. "Now, come on you big lug, let's get you to the car and have Kenma fix you up."

Bokuto, however, refuses to budge.

"No," he says and shakes his head. "I can't."

"Is your ankle really hurt that bad?" Kuroo asks, worried eyes glancing down to give the other's injury a quick look-over. "Then we'll just carry you there."

"They got me, Kuroo," Bokuto whispers, and his voice sounds uncharacteristically small. Defeated. "Just go already."

"I call bullshit, Bokuto," Kuroo counters, unamused by his antics. "You can't turn on us, you weren't even bitten. Fuck you."

"Damn, you saw right through me," Bokuto forces out a weak laugh, a hollow sound that comes off lopsided and brittle, voice strained to the point it sounds grating against Kei's ears. His complexion is turning alarmingly pale. "But I wasn't talking about the infected."

It is then that Kei realizes the growing dampness on his right side.

It isn't obvious through Bokuto's navy shirt, but when Kei focuses his attention on the other's torso now, he sees just how much the cloth has been soaked with the dark crimson of the other boy's blood. When he moves his hand down the large of the spiker's back, he feels the warmth of it spread over to his palms.

Bokuto buckles underneath his own weight.

"No, no, no, oh god, no," Kuroo mutters over and over again like a mantra, holding onto a boy who is bleeding out in his arms. How ironic it is for him to be praying right now, right before a temple shrine. "Bokuto, what–"

"I'm sorry, guys," the former ace confesses, and Kei almost wishes he could tell Bokuto to stop talking, to stop wasting his breath, to hold on for their sake for just a little bit longer until he can figure out how to get him help without having to bargain with the gods for a miracle. He knows it won't make much of a difference. "You warned me about the traps and everything and I was so proud when I dodged the first one that aimed for my head..."

"Then why–"

"I just didn't think about how they might have a second arrow that would follow it this time."

"You idiot!"

"Yeah. I know, right?" Bokuto chuckles, a frail attempt at humor. "I'm such an idiot."

"We can still fix this," Kuroo says suddenly, desperate in his attempts to pull Bokuto back up and force him onto his feet. "Kenma can heal you up real quick, I know he can," he's rambling, "so quit stalling and let's go, we shouldn't waste any more time, you've already lost enough blood as it is–"

"Exactly," Bokuto wheezes, shrugging Kuroo off as he curls into himself with a whimper. The tone of his voice falls quiet and resigned. He takes his arm off of Kei's shoulder and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a keyring as he does. "I've already lost enough blood." Bokuto releases Kuroo's grip on his wrist and deposits the key like a token into Kuroo's calloused hand. "You should leave me behind and go."

"But Akaashi…"

"What about Akaashi?"

"You promised him you would live."

Bokuto looks up at Kuroo to answer him, warm eyes the color of liquid courage and the sweetest of honey, "I also promised him I'd protect you, Kuroo," he smiles, wan and honest and perhaps even sad, "all of you."

Kuroo's face crumples as he bites down hard on his bottom lip.

"Now go, my barrier won't hold up forever," Bokuto gestures to the haphazardly closed door of the lecture hall before he pushes weakly on Kuroo's arm, a futile attempt to shove the other boy away. Kei's senses kick back onto high alert. He'd almost forgotten about that part. "I'll do what I can to finish them off while you escape so they won't chase after you," he promises, "don't worry, I have enough bullets."

"But we're a team," Kuroo begs him, voice thick and cracking as it hangs onto his last word. "There's no way we can leave you behind. You can come with us and even if the zombies come running at our tails, we'll figure out how to work around it like we always do. Right, Kenma?"

"Kuro."

"Tsukki?"

Kei doesn't even so much as say anything, already all-too-aware of the sheer pain he's inflicted just by the silent admission.

"It's okay, Kuroo," Bokuto tells him softly, "just go already."

Kuroo swoops down to wrap Bokuto in his arms, squeezing the larger boy tightly in an unspoken goodbye. Bokuto returns the gesture, patting the raven-haired on the back as he lets himself sink into the gentle cradle of his best friend's embrace.

Then, the door of the lecture hall finally gives way, and Bokuto forces Kuroo off of him. The rest of them make their escape while the Bokuto stalls the horde that chases after them. Kei ducks into the car just as Kuroo takes his seat at the wheel, and Kenma busies himself by buckling up in the backseat beside him.

Their car speeds away just as Kei watches Bokuto staggeringly pick himself up off the ground and position himself to kneel, rifle raised with a practiced precision in order to take aim. The gunsman remains stark still amidst the chaos, an unmoving star in the face of their merciless universe, and from within the ruins of his sacred battleground, Bokuto spares a moment to send them all off with a small wave.

Then, the sound of gunfire.

A small metal band glinting brilliantly under the sunlight.


	13. there, the nightingale

chap 401 was so good holy shit

:) also i've shifted the focus a bit this chap in the hopes we can all get to know kenma better! if you've ever wondered how he got his eyepatch – then here's your answer.

* * *

They stop at a gas station on the side of Roppongi, somewhere in between Tokyo Midtown and a glassy building that Kei remembers had once used to be the National Art Center. His brother had mentioned visiting it a few times before.

"Step out for a bit, Kenma," Kuroo tells them as he turns off the ignition and pops open the door to the gas tank. "You too, Tsukki. Don't wanna get you two high on the fumes."

"We'll be back in an hour then," Kenma agrees, before turning to face Kei. "The museum is two blocks away," he tells him, "we can go there if you're interested."

"Why are we going to the museum?"

Kenma tilts his head at the question, an amber eye blinking back at Kei in a curious stare.

"You like those, right?" he says, "Kuro told me."

"Well, yeah, but–"

"Do you have anywhere else you want to go?"

"Not exactly…"

"Then it's fine," Kenma tells him, grabbing the taller blond by the wrist before tugging on it quickly. "Walk with me. I need to tell you something. Will you listen?"

.

The museum is in tatters by the time they arrive, signs of struggle scattered around its halls. The atmosphere that surrounds them is eerie, haunted; the building littered with rotting corpses and decaying bodies – nameless multitudes of the starved undead.

"Two weeks into the outbreak," Kenma begins, swerving the entrance open as he leads Kei through the deserted interior, "I was attacked by an infected."

Ke looks at him with eyes pained by an overwhelming sense of sympathy. "Was it…?"

"Hm?" a raise of his brow. Kenma blinks in the slow dawn of understanding and lifts a hand to wave the younger's worries away. "Oh, no. No, it wasn't my parents. They were on a business trip abroad that week and I haven't seen them since."

"Then who?"

"Someone I knew," the setter says, "just can't remember their face. I was–"

Careless.

Kenma had been careless.

"–alone at home when it happened. I heard a voice outside and opened the door to answer it without thinking. It scratched me in the eye before I could escape."

He spares Kei the details. Kenma doesn't talk about the way he'd panicked recalling how the infection was first talked about on the news, doesn't tell him how he'd gouged out his eyeball – hands shaking and blood caked deep into his fingernails, the picture of a nightmare – just as quickly after gunning the creature down.

He called Kuroo soon after that. Kenma remembers pressing his phone against his ear, the feeling of it trembling as he held it in his bloodied hands. _Home, _he'd said. Nothing more, nothing less. Then, the sound of static. A half vision of black.

He hardly remembers the pain.

Kuroo arrived in less than an hour, sparing Kenma any questions as he helped him clean up the aftermath. He more or less sees how it all happens; knows Kenma well enough to surmise what exactly had transpired. Kuroo is the one who'd disposed of the body, had wrapped the corpse in a linen cloth before tossing it in a shallow mound on the Kozume's front lawn. He'd sealed off their windows and barricaded the front door, bundled Kenma up in the thickest blanket he could find before heading to the stove to boil them some tea. It was apple and cinnamon honey, Kenma could tell by the smell, because Kuroo always knew the flavor he liked best.

He must've passed out sometime after that.

Kenma had woken up to a cool cloth on his forehead and the sight of Kuroo asleep next to him, sitting on the ground, his head cradled in folded-up arms and the nest of his bedhead tamed from exhaustion. The teacups were left on the coffee table – his, cold and untouched; Kuroo's, forgotten and half-emptied.

_Kuro, _he'd croaked, voice hoarse and raspy from disuse. _Get away. I'm infected._

_No, it's alright. _Kuroo had whispered upon waking. _You're alright. _He wrapped his arms around Kenma and held him close to his chest. _You're safe now. _He ran his fingers through his hair. _We got it out. _His rough voice reassured him endlessly. _You'll make it. _

_What if–_

_Shhh._

Kuroo had stayed up to look after him, Kenma realizes; he'd taken care of him throughout the night and watched over his febrile, seizing form. There were bags under his eyes. Kenma doesn't miss the look underlying the concern in his gaze. It was fear.

Kuroo was afraid.

Kenma had felt the same.

They walk past an array of painted dishes, a gallery of ceramic lilies. There's a portrait of a girl with absinthe drinking at a bar, the moon peeking out from the shop window – a piece entitled moonshine. Kenma stops to take a closer look.

"It's been months after I lost my eye," Kenma says, moving onto the next painting and pretending to take in the details of its brushwork, of the strokes that composed a fair maiden's hand, "I haven't turned since."

"Are you immune?"

_No, _he'd told Kuroo back then, eye misty with the threatening onslaught of his tears, _hear me out. What if I was wrong?_

_You're not–_

_What if I failed and this all messes up and I still have the virus and become a zombie in the end? I don't want to hurt you, Kuro. You or anyone else. _

Dread creeps up on him in silence. Kenma is not a stranger to the sensation. He knows well of the way it lurked inside of him, insidious and suffocating, leaving him bare – a soul defenseless and void of anything left to consume. Fear was a hollow feeling that threatened to swallow him whole.

It still lingers, until now.

_You have to kill me before I turn._

"I don't know," Kenma answers as he shoves his hands in his pockets, unsatisfied. He chews on his bottom lip; gives it some thought. At last, he settles for, "I don't think so."

Everyday he spends awake, he worries that what he'd done was never really enough. That the virus was still inside of him, only just latent in his system. Dormant. Waiting for the right time to strike. He tells Kei just as much.

_I don't want to be the reason you'll become one too._

Kuroo had been quiet back then. He'd stared at him wordlessly as Kenma mustered all the breath out of his lungs and begged his best friend in between heaving, desperate breaths. _Please, _Kenma had said. _Answer me, _he demanded, _If I turn into one of the infected, what will you do? _

They go through the rest of the paintings. Kuroo had never really given him an answer. Kenma keeps moving forward.

"I want you to do me a favor," Kenma tells Kei. Not a promise – that word, Kenma feels, is much too heavy.

"What is it, Kenma-san?"

Just a favor is fine, Kenma says, if it would be alright with Kei. That if the time came that Kenma would ever turn on them like in his sleep, then Kei would kill him. Shoot, stab, hurl a machete or even a microwave in his face. You name it. Anything at his disposal. As long as he kills him before he hurts anyone else.

Before he hurts Kuroo, most especially.

"Could you kill me," he asks, "in case I ever turn?"

This is okay, Kenma tells himself. He's only requesting that Kei do him a favor, but Kenma's pretty sure that the younger boy has no reason to turn him down. Kei is an outsider which makes him a good choice. Coupled with the fact that he had so easily adjusted to their squad's pace of blasting zombie brains for survival on a daily basis in their rundown neo-Tokyo world, Kenma considers him to be the best man for the job. It's the optimal strategy.

"I'm not trying to make you a murderer," the setter assures. "Technically, I'm already gone." Kenma's tone sobers as he meets Kei's gaze. "If it helps, then think of me as the walking dead. It won't make a difference if you kill me again."

Kenma frowns as he purses his lips, mouth pressed into a thin line. Kei ducks his head to look down on the ground.

"I–"

Kenma beats him to the punch before Kei can say anything else; looks at the younger boy with the knowing patience of a quiet understanding.

"You don't have to decide on it yet," he says. For so long, Kenma had carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He has no time to form attachments here. "Just think about it for now."

Kenma turns away and focuses his attention back onto the hung canvas, moves to head towards the opposite of the exhibition hall. Kei follows him closely behind.

"And this is a request," Kenma reminds, his face tucked in the shadows beneath the dim light. The fluorescent bulbs flicker overhead as they walk. "I'm asking you to do me a favor, not pay a debt."

"But Kenma-san…"

"Drop the honorific," Kenma tells him. Shards of glass crunch underneath their feet. "You owe me nothing, Kei."

.

Kenma and Kei return to the gas station by nightfall, skies the shade of dust grey and roads as empty as one can hope they would be in an apocalypse. Kuroo is waiting for them outside the parked car, hair tousled by the crisp evening breeze as he watches the sunset to mark the passage of the times. Kei ignores Bokuto's bloodstains on the older boy's shirt.

"Here," Kenma says as he hands Kuroo a drink, embezzled from a vending machine they smashed open two streets back, "it's your welcome party."

"For what?" Kei asks.

Kuroo cracks open the contraband soda can and takes a sip. Kenma responds with a false cheer. "Welcome to the missing-one-organ club," he says.

Kuroo chuckles as he downs the contents of his Fanta. His eyes are puffy and red-rimmed around the edges. Kenma had left him behind so as to let the older boy mourn in silence, in private. After all, what else is there left that they could do?

"You're right, kitten," Kuroo laughs airily; an ephemeral comfort. "Now we match."

On the other side of the road, a street lamp blinks once, twice, before finally flickering itself into a semi-perpetual trance. The world brightens. The city comes alive.

"I'm sorry, Kuroo-san," Kei says, once Kenma had excused himself to head to the back of the car and retire for the night. Sleep is a flimsy excuse, they all know, but the two boys let the setter off early anyway so he can take his time to grieve. Bokuto had been Kenma's friend too, Kei understands, and the loss of such people never gets any easier.

"Why are you apologizing?"

"For earlier," Kei mumbles, fidgeting with his hands as he lowers his gaze. "I want to apologize for...for your ear."

"You don't have to apologize for that," the older boy tells him. "We're a team, so it's only natural to cover for each other. I've got your back just as I know you've got mine."

Beside him, Kuroo scoots closer and tilts his head up to watch the stars. It's only the two of them now.

"You know, in times like these...it's better to just say 'thank you' instead of 'sorry,' don't you think? At least, I know it'd make me feel a lot better."

"Yeah, but…" Kei insists, eyes falling on the handkerchief wrapped around the other's jaw, the blood seeping through the fabric of Kenma's makeshift bandage. "You got hurt because of me."

"I'd rather me hurt than you dead, Tsukki," he confesses. "Your life is more valuable to me than this little cut." Kuroo offers him a smile. It is patient, forgiving. "And hey, it's gonna take more than a missing ear to bring me, the Kuroo Tetsurou, down."

"But still…"

"Shh," Kuroo shushes him, resting his hand atop Kei's head and gently ruffling his hair. "Don't worry about it. You're a good kid, Tsukki."

Kei brings his knees up close to his chest. Softly, he says, "Thank you, Kuroo-san."

Kuroo bends down to meet him, bringing his face closer as he flashes Kei a wide, lopsided grin.

"Huh? What now? Sorry, I can't hear you," Kuroo singsongs, hand cupping around the space where his ear used to be, mockingly. "Could you say that again?"

Kei wrinkles his nose and squints as he turns away.

"Nevermind."

"Pleeeease?"

"No."


	14. good night, good night

we're so close, folks

* * *

The roads on Rainbow Bridge are blocked off by traffic – a series of abandoned vehicles either emptied or stuffed full with rotting corpses of starved infected as well as the plain dead. Seatbelts remain fastened and strapped across decaying bodies. A few arms hang out from car windows, pale and limp and lifeless; fewer still that are only faintly moving, seeking out the smallest traces of life – an opportunity for nourishment.

They leave the car behind.

"Can we rest yet?" Kenma asks aloud about a kilometer and a half later. Whoever said that the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step probably forgot to mention the importance of taking breaks considering the physical limitations of the human body. It's hard to find the motivation to keep going when you're trekking across swerving seaside roads by foot under the blistering heat of the noontime sun.

"Patience, kitten," Kuroo chides, dodging a stray limb that reached out from inside a cherry red SUV. "We can take a water break soon."

"Actually," Kei begins, heart jumping to his throat as he swallows down the panic that swelled in the pit of his stomach, "I don't think we can."

They follow his gaze, heads turning towards the direction Kei had been pointing at. A bus had tipped over at the other side of the road, encircled by shattered glass and a pile of decomposing bodies. The driver's corpse slumps over the wheel.

"What the fuck?" Kuroo hisses, ducking down behind a nearby sedan as he urged the others to follow his lead. From across the distance, Kei can hear the telltale signs indicative of a sizable horde – sounds of dull groans and the slow shuffle of limbs, the heavy dragging of feet.

There are about forty of the undead in there.

(Possibly, hopefully, maybe even less.)

"What do we do?" Kenma presses, remembering to keep his voice low and hushed, though Kei imagines he already knows the answer.

The harbor is waiting for them on the other side of the blockade, their only ticket to salvation. Kei looks around to examine the area surrounding the bus, inspecting the labyrinth of frozen traffic in the hopes of finding a detour. The roads are too narrow for them to attempt to circle around the overturned vehicle.

Still, they've come this far; it's too late for them to stop now.

"I'll set up a diversion," Kei says, forming a tacit understanding for the remaining two to go on ahead. He doesn't think twice. None of them can afford to leave room for self-doubt or hesitation at this point. "Run past the back while I keep the zombies distracted. I'll catch up with the both of you after."

Kei baits the undead by sounding off the car alarms, triggering a handful of vehicles from the opposite lane before hiding behind an abandoned delivery truck he had found close by. The infected perk up at the noise, a slave to their senses, and they seek out the source of it like a moth drawn to flame. Kei is about to set off another alarm for good measure when he picks up the sound of a gun blasting off on the other side of the street.

His heart stops.

Without a second to lose, Kei breaks off into a sprint and starts running.

.

_No._

_This wasn't supposed to happen._

This is how Kei finds them: Kuroo with his eyes dulled and blood pooling around his feet, holding the motionless body of his best friend in his arms. A rogue corpse lies beside them with a bullet hole running seamlessly through its temples. Smoke trails from the barrel of Kuroo's gun.

"Kenma!" Kuroo shouts, his voice laced with panic. Urgency. He calls his name out hoarsely over and over, "Kenma, Kenma, _Kenma_."

There's a gash in Kenma's left trouser leg; a marker of death staring at them in the face in a way that is both loud and unforgiving – teeth marks on skin. An open bite wound.

They were so close.

So close.

Kei can see the harbor over the horizon.

"Kuroo-san," Kei bites out between the echo of his gunfire. The undead are coming after them; Kuroo can spot their figures less than a hundred meters away, gradually picking up speed. They're massively outnumbered. "We need to go."

Kuroo doesn't listen, instead focusing on the wheezing noise of Kenma's laboured breaths, the frightening pallor of the other boy's pasty skin. Kenma has no energy to speak, much less put up a struggle. The back of Kei's shirt is drenched in cold sweat.

"_Kuroo-san_," Kei presses, voice shrill. Louder, this time. Kei reloads his pistol and pulls the trigger at rapidfire. They both know the noise will only attract more of them here.

"Kuroo!"

A flurry of rifle shots break out from behind them, and the infected pitch sidewards as the bullets land cleanly on the targets. Kei whips his head around to seek their source, eyes meeting the sight of cropped chestnut hair and sharp hazel eyes – a familiar face, the owner of the voice.

"What the hell are you doing?" Yaku shouts over the volley of crossfire, scolding. "Hurry up and get the hell out of here!"

"Run!" a boy with a mohawk barks. "We'll hold them off for you the best we can!"

"Bullshit," Kuroo yells, "no one is dying for us again!"

"Bullshit to _you_, Kuroo Tetsurou," Yaku yells back, his voice laced with venom. Pure spite. "Who the fuck said that we were dying?"

"Kuroo, we can handle it," a tanned boy counters calmly. Beside him, a silent boy lifts his weapon, sharp cat-like eyes taking aim with a crossbow in his arms.

"Please go, Kuroo-san," Lev's voice hollers at them from a greater distance, words muddied by the barrage of ammunition hurtling through the air. "Kenma-san needs you!"

"Go!" Yaku orders, his gaze tension-filled but enough to hold them steady. "Take care of Kenma! We'll be fine!"

Kuroo doesn't doubt it.

.

Kenma holds it together.

"Kenma," he hears Kuroo's voice call out to him, urging him to stay awake. "Kenma, please."

They hide out in a warehouse at the foot of the bridge. Kuroo tells Kei to get one of his blades – to clean it, disinfect it, get rid of the old blood. Kenma doesn't think it'll work, but Kei follows him wordlessly anyway.

He'd gotten bitten in the leg this time. It's too late, Kenma thinks. Even if they cut it off, the virus is already in him, dormant and waiting all this time. The wound on his leg had only served as a trigger.

He can't fight this now.

Kuroo props Kenma up on a workman's table, its surface lined with pads of flat cardboard to construct a makeshift bed. Kuroo holds him close; Kenma holds his hand. Kuroo rubs soothing circles all over it.

"You should have left me," Kenma tells him quietly. "You should still leave now while you can."

Kuroo is staring at him now, his brows are furrowed and his eyes are growing wetter every second, a building threat of a dam just about to break, an incoming onslaught of angry, anguished tears. He looks like he's in pain. Kenma hates it when Kuroo looks like that. He hates the fact that he has nobody else to blame but himself for putting that expression on Kuroo's face. He hates that he is the reason why Kuroo is hurting.

"No," Kuroo says, his rough voice thick with emotion. "No, you can't–"

_You can't leave me._

"Kuro," Kenma answers back simply, past the dreaded onslaught of his own tears. He finally understands why Akaashi tried to do what he did before. They'll have to kill him now, but he knows that to ask of such a thing would be too cruel. Kuroo would be better off if he would just let Kenma kill himself instead, he says.

"No," Kuroo tells him again, biting down on his bottom lip in worry. Kenma can't ignore his overwhelming desperation painted clear in his expression – in the tremble of his voice and the shakiness of his hands. "We'll save you."

There's the sound of a cough, stifled. The sharp stutter of a held back sigh.

"We just need to get rid of the infected site after all," Kuroo insists. It worked for him the last time. They did this before and they can do it again. If Kenma's made it through before then he can make it through this again.

Kenma looks at him sadly like he wants to cry.

"Stupid," he scolds him, "what else is there for you to cut? It's just the same as killing me then. Besides, it's probably too late now at this point."

Kuroo insists though, because Kuroo is Kuroo and he'd always just been stubborn like that. "It hasn't even been an hour yet," Kuroo argues, "we've only had, like, ten minutes."

Kenma is crying now, cupping his face in his hands. "Last time, we acted in seconds," he confesses. "Just one minute alone is already long enough. You and I both know that ten minutes are too much, Kuro." Kenma's lip quivers as he speaks. "We were lucky before, but not so much now." His voice wavers at every word. "You have to let me go this time."

"Let's cut off the leg," Kuroo begs. "Amputate it," he bargains. "It could work. What if you're immune?"

"And then what?" Kenma throws him a question back, "I won't be able to walk anymore after that. What use will you have for me then?" his voice rises. "Am I going to have you drag me around? Crawl my way through? Do you really think you'll make it to the harbor that way if you carry me on your back, have me ride piggyback on your shoulders the whole time we have to walk through the remainder of this city?" Kenma's breath hitches as he speaks; digs his nails into the folded surface of the cardboard. "I'll become a liability. I'll slow us down. Tire you out. When the hordes come running, there's no way you'll be able to fight them like that." His hands come up to cover his face. "You won't stand a chance." The sound of his voice comes out as something between an empty laugh and choked sob. "I'm not letting you travel around with a cripple, Kuro."

"Then we can just cut the skin!" Kuroo protests. "We'll siphon the disease out like a poison." It's far too heavy a risk.

"What if you ingest it?" Kenma contends. Neither of them are willing to back down. "What I did out there, I did to protect you. I'm not dragging you down with me."

_So please. _

"Will you kill me, Kuro, or will I have to do it myself?"

But Kuroo is stubborn. Kuroo is pleading. Every second that they let pass by is another ounce of diseased blood that they'll have to pump out from his veins, Kenma knows. Kuroo grabs his hands and makes another compromise.

"What if we drain it out?" he suggests. "Just with pressure, no siphoning." Kuroo holds out a gamble. He hates to hear him say it, it's an admission out loud, like a prayer to the dead, but he doesn't have much more time. "If you're going to die either way, Kenma, can't we at least try to see if this chance would work?"

Kenma is stunned by the other's choice of words.

"We can fix this," Kuroo tells him, and it's wrong wrong _wrong_ but still. Kenma can't help but hope. "I can fix this."

And Kenma gives in, because Kenma is Kenma and Kenma loves Kuroo – that much, the whole world knows, is undeniable. It's enough to bend all his principles in strategy and efficiency.

Really now, Kenma had always been weak to the older boy's deep hazel eyes. Not even the apocalypse has changed that fact.

Kenma's love for Kuroo remains, unwavering and resolute, even now as he lies in Kuroo's arms, heaving between every shaky, rattling, and painful gasp for air; standing at the precipice between life and death. His entire existence is fading into oblivion. Kenma edges closer to his fate at this world's end.

"Okay," Kenma says to him at last. "You can try."

Kuroo smiles as he stares back at Kenma's fever-bright eyes and squeezes his hand reassuringly. "Thank you," he says. Kenma squeezes back. "Trust me, you're strong." Kuroo promises, "We can do this."

"I trust you, Kuro," Kenma says, bringing a hand up between them to cover the other's mouth. He kisses the space where their lips should meet. "I always have."

.

Kuroo and Kei take alternating shifts to monitor Kenma's condition through the night. Dabbing his skin with cloth. Dressing the wound. Tightening his tourniquet. They don't need to leave the warehouse just yet; they have enough supplies packed to last them a week.

"I'm glad," Kenma tells Kei later in the evening, when Kuroo is curled up on the cot they've rolled out on the floor, "that I saw you that day."

Kenma's voice is faint. Weak. He'd spoken so softly that if Kei hadn't strained his ears hard to pay attention, he'd almost have missed it.

"We're fortunate to have picked you up," Kenma says feebly.

_No._

"You're an invaluable asset to the team."

_No no no no._

"It almost sounds like you're saying goodbye," Kei scolds lightly, lips pursing as his tone wavers with slight trepidation. "That's unfair. You can't quit on us now, Kenma, don't you dare–"

"I'm not," Kenma shakes his head, "quitting. Don't worry. I just...wanted to say it."

"Hm?"

"It's been on my mind since that day we picked you up. Thought I should let you know." Kenma pauses. "I don't think you realize how important you are."

"I'm not–"

"You _are_. You've done so much for us."

Kei bites down on his bottom lip. "I was just paying you all back for sharing your supplies with me that time."

"That doesn't really matter in the apocalypse now, does it?"

"I–"

"You had no merit in being with us," the older boy says, "there was nothing more for you to gain." A pause; a sharp intake of breath. "You could've chosen to leave anytime."

But he didn't.

Kenma was right. People will do anything to survive. After Akaashi trained him with a pistol, Kei was already more than capable of handling himself out there all on his own. He could've left them at any time if he had willed it, but he didn't.

Instead, he chose to stay.

Kei _had_ done so much for them. The team had saved his ass now a couple handful of times, sure, but there were just as many moments wherein he too had saved theirs. Somewhere down the line, survival turned to sentiment and he'd grown to care for their team like a family all of his own. They know for a fact that Kei would have much rather died than let any of the infected get them when they did. His actions had risked just as much.

Kei realizes, belatedly, where exactly Kenma is getting at with his somber tone of voice.

"You'll kill me, won't you?" Kenma asks, "When I…"

Kei thinks back to the time Kenma picked him up on the side of the road in the abandoned family restaurant, how his golden eye greeted him awake and he'd stopped the others from blasting his head off his body after presuming he was already one of the undead. Still, Kei thinks, it is worth repaying one good deed with another. Kei squeezes Kenma's hand in assurance and tells him he agrees.

"'_If_,' you mean," Kei corrects as he plasters on a small smile, though the sound of his voice is unspeakably sad. "And yes."

More than anyone, it is Kei who understands.

"'If' then," Kenma amends warmly. "You're a good friend, Kei. We're lucky to have you."

"Thank you," he tells Kenma quietly, words half-heard in the stillness. Kenma rests his eyes and Kei lets him, watching in silence as the other boy peacefully drifts off.

Kenma flits in and out of sleep, mumbles words in his dreams. Kei holds his hand close, feels the careful beating of his weak pulse. He's still here. He's still breathing.

He's hopeful.


	15. the last lover at the end of the world

so folks it's been a wild ride but we're finally at the end. thank you for all your support during these past seven months, and for being with me on my haikyuu journey during these past eight years. here's hoping you all face happier and better days in spite of the pandemic out there. i hope you enjoy the final instalment of my humble HQ zombie au :) happy reading~

* * *

On the fourth day, Kenma turns in his sleep.

It happens when Kei is on shift. He's wringing a cool cloth and dabbing it on the setter's skin – his fever's been fluctuating for a while now – when Kenma begins convulsing in his arms, lids fluttering open and eyes rolling back to the base of his skull.

Kei panics.

He remembers the story of how Kenma lost his eye and went into a brief seizure soon after the operation. Maybe that's it. Maybe it's a side effect of his body trying to fight off the infection, like an uphill climb in his journey towards recovery. Kei hopes.

But the thrashing is noisy, Kei can't help but worry, because Kuroo is still sleeping and the poor guy needs his rest. Kei pushes down on Kenma to hold him still, hands on forearms and his elbow against the other's chest.

The fit continues.

Kei makes do with what he can to keep Kenma steady, sweat lining his brow from both physical effort and the overwhelming sense of concern. For both Kuroo's and Kenma's sakes, Kei does little else but pray for things to calm down and be quiet.

It lasts for ten whole minutes.

Kenma's hair falls on his face as he squirms, lips parting as he lets out a small whimper of pain, and the caretaker part in Kei holds back the urge to brush it all away.

Kei stops panicking and the blood no longer rushes to his ears. The room is quiet, save for a few snores that escape Kuroo. Finally, Kenma falls still. Kei allows himself to relax.

Then, he hears it.

It starts out like a gasp. A small puff of air that doesn't quite sound right. Kei hears wheezing; the struggling noise of a dying man's choked breaths. The sound of a rattling as the wind blows through the hollow space of another's bones.

Kei turns his head, moving slowly to take a better look at Kenma and–

And there it is.

He's looking at it now, greater than all his fears combined. The patch of mottled skin that traces around the edges of his scar. The crisscrossed streaks of his veins that imprint themselves like a pattern in the area surrounding the wound. That sickeningly familiar shade of herculean blue.

Kenma isn't Kenma anymore.

He's gone just like the rest of them.

Kei has been a fool to have fallen for the same mistake twice. He does not want to risk it for a third time.

He backs away and motions to retrieve Kuroo's gun nearby. Kenma's been tied down as a just-in-case, but the infected are wild beasts and the bondages, it seems, are not enough to hold him down.

Kenma manages to get out of it.

Kei feels his heart stop.

He is frozen to the ground. This is a scene that Kei is all too familiar with. A sick and painful feeling bubbles in his chest. Kei remembers Akaashi; remembers Bokuto and thinks no less of the man with nothing other than sheer respect, for his strength and his bravery when that moment came and Bokuto had been the one to pull the trigger instead.

Now Kei is alone, almost. Kuroo is in danger and Kenma has turned, and Bokuto and Akaashi were long gone just like the rest of them. There's nobody else who can pick up his slack.

Kei has to make things right.

He sucks in a breath and steels himself, mentally prepares for what he couldn't bring his hands to do before.

Kenma pushes himself off with his good leg and makes a leap to attack Kuroo. Kei rushes to take aim as soon as his fingers meet the familiar brush of metal. Kuroo's weapon is almost foreign in his hands; skin relishing in the feel of cold steel and polymer frames. But it feels good - like a fresh beginning, Kei can't help but think - fingers coiling around the trigger as he tightens his hold around the grip.

He shoots.

Kuroo wakes up right there and then; eyes opening to the sight of Kenma falling before him, a bullet shot straight through the crown of his head – temple to temple, dust to dust. Ashes to ashes.

.

"What the fuck?" Kuroo shouts, voice cracking from emotion. His eyes are wet, heaving with questions that die unspoken on his tongue.

"I'm sorry, Kuroo-san."

Kuroo looks desperate, movements panicked and stilted, gaze burning as though manic and fevered. His eyes skim Kei's face over and over, searching and pleading and begging him for answers.

"How dare you?" Kuroo sounds shocked. "How…" Afraid. "How could you?"

"It didn't work," Kei tells him, and he hates the way his voice sounds so detached in his attempt to explain. "He turned," Kei wonders if his eyes are as cold as his words, "I had to do it."

_I had to protect you._

Kuroo's eyes are on him, gaze sharp. "You don't know that," he spits out bitterly to him in contempt, "How sure were you? What if he was still working on beating it?"

"He lunged at you, Kuroo-san. I couldn't take that chance."

"Chance!" the older boy screams, eyes crazed and on the precipice of hysteria. His voice is laced with venom. Resentment. "What chance?!" Kuroo doesn't hold back, "Because of you Kenma doesn't have any chance at all!"

"Kuroo-san."

"Because you just–"

"Kuroo."

"–blew out his fucking brains–"

"Stop."

"–you didn't give him enough time–"

"Listen–"

"Why should I listen to you?"

"Kuroo-san, please. Kenma–"

"What do you even know about Kenma?"

"I know that Kenma wanted to protect you," Kei answers firmly, voice resolute. "He wanted me to do this."

"Bullshit."

"Because he loved you," Kei continues with his point without wavering. Kuroo finally stops his screaming and allows himself to listen. "We had an agreement. He asked me to kill him before he could hurt anyone on the team," he tells him, "You, especially."

Kei hears another sound of a pained gasp for air. It sounds broken, raw.

Alive.

Kuroo brings a hand to his mouth and muffles a choked sob into the skin of his palm. Kei listens to the sounds as he grieves; wallows together with him in silence.

.

Canned tuna tastes no better freshly cooked than it does lukewarm, Kei decides, when Kuroo pries open a can he'd looted from the back of the warehouse storage shed. Kei takes in two mouthfuls of fish, the salinity faring no better than his tears, and swallows it down without complaint. There's a hollow feeling that settles in the pit of his stomach. He hardly feels full.

"I think it would be a good idea to spend another night here," Kuroo says, eyes rubbed red and bloodshot. Kei ignores the heated flush of their damp cheeks. "The pier is only fifteen minutes away." He sniffs. "We should get some more rest in the meantime."

"The boats aren't going anywhere," Kei agrees. "We can leave tomorrow, no rush."

"If we're lucky, we might be able to have Yakkun and the others tag along."

"The ones from the bridge?"

A nod. "We used to travel together with them, you know."

"What stopped you, then?"

"They found out about Kenma," Kuroo confides. "So we split up. We weren't forced out of the team, though...they were our friends. But even if they let us stick around, we all knew how wary everyone had felt about it. The underlying unease. Kenma eventually decided that he'd rather not stick around the group. He probably got sick of everyone treating him like he was made of glass. Can't blame them, though. After all, we understood the risks."

"And you?'

"Yaku and I decided it would be safer if I tagged along. We both knew there was no way I would let him just go out there alone."

"Weren't you scared?"

"Who wouldn't be?" Kuroo laughs at his query; the sound of it comes as quickly as it goes. "But I loved him more than I was afraid of him, and that alone was enough for me."

"How naive, Kuroo-san."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'romantic.'"

"You could be both," Kei argues, crossing his arms. "I wouldn't put it past you. You're practically a walking oxymoron at this point."

"Love does that to people sometimes, Tsukki," the older boy confesses breezily, "It makes them brave. Reckless."

"Annoying?"

Another vivid laugh. "Yeah," he agrees. "That too."

"It's a mystery how your teammates managed to put up with you all this time."

"Who knows." Kuroo stops laughing and flashes him a smile back, expression tight-lipped with unspoken understanding.

Kei coughs. "Do you think they're still–"

"Alive? Of course. They're fighters, the whole lot of them. They're not going to give themselves up that easily."

"Then they might have already gone ahead. It's been days now."

"Could we still look for them tomorrow before we sail out, though?"

"First thing in the morning?"

"That would be nice."

"It would, wouldn't it," Kei hums. "We should sleep early then, so we can start the search sooner. There's no use spending tonight worrying over things we have yet to face the next day."

"You're right."

"Mm. I usually am."

Kei munches on another mouthful of tuna before he wipes his fingers on the hem of his shirt. The fish is salty against his tongue, and he grabs a cracker to rinse away the taste of brine in his mouth.

"Since when?" Kuroo asks him quietly, after Kei swallows his cracker down.

"When what?"

"Since when did you know about Kenma?"

"After Bokuto," Kei replies, eyes not quite meeting the other's gaze. He ducks his head down low when he speaks. "That time we left you at the gas station. He told me when we were at the museum, when we left you alone to grieve."

Kuroo hums, setting down the now-empty can before him. The metal clinks against the polished concrete floor.

"And you agreed?" Kuroo asks, voice ripping through the air and stumbling in the cracked earth. His words resound as softly as the withered leaves that rustled around their feet. The anguish of the marrow. "Just like that?"

Kei imagines the feeling of Kenma's hand in his, the warmth of it pressed against his palm. He remembers the brittle ache of his honesty. The raw gold of his voice.

"Yes," Kei murmurs as he clings onto the memory, holding it tight, the way a lover would. "Just like that."

.

At night, Kuroo sleeps beside him, curled up with his brows furrowed in a fitful sleep. Dried up tears crust at the corners of his eyes. Kei lies on the cot with his head propped up against his jacket-turned makeshift pillow. He'd long stopped dreaming of his life before the outbreak.

They lie together, holding hands just like what they both used to do with Kenma. It's comforting, almost, because it reminds Kei of living. It reminds him that they're still here and that they're not alone. That they have each other. It's only the two of them now.

In the midst of his insomnia, Kei spends his hours sorting through their agenda for the next day. He thinks about his promise to help Kuroo search for the rest of Nekoma. About Kenma's body and how they'll have to find a good spot to bury it tomorrow out of respect. Somewhere in the water probably, where the sun meets the sea and the light scatters at dusk. Where the water will resemble a mirror of the most forgiving oblivion. Like a memory of an old friend.

Tomorrow they'll scavenge more supplies and amass their loot for dinner, and find a good enough spot for the next hideout until they set up a ship ready for their departure. There's still a lot more out there for them to do before they can finally leave the docks, but it's fine.

For now, he'll catch up on lost hours of well-deserved rest and make the most of what can be comfortable in their cramped makeshift bed; he'll hold onto Kuroo's hand and soldier through whatever is thrown at them by reality, and he'll let the warmth of their skinship anchor himself through the rest of it.

It's only the two of them now.

.

When Kei closes his eyes later that night, he revisits a memory in place of a dream.

It's of him lying in the back alley of a ransacked family restaurant, face pressed against the hard gravel of the Tokyo city sidewalk. He remembers the stench of decay that hung in the air, the grime smeared across his cheek; his clothes are splattered with the blood of strangers he can't seem to name.

He remembers.

There's the weight of a boot pressed down on his chest; the feeling of a gun cocked against his temple. A familiar mop of hair streaked in white and grey. A boy with an eyepatch.

And then, at last –

Four sets of eyes that look down at him curiously when he meets their gaze.

.

(Tsukishima Kei falls asleep at the end of the world, and thinks of just how lucky he is to have been found.)


End file.
